Darkness closing in
by Wildweasel
Summary: presumed lost, Mac has finally been rescued. Now he has to deal with the aftermath of memory loss and stress. Stella and the team step up to help him, as his nemesis are looking to take their revenge on him. Angsty Smacked...team friendship. CHAP 16 UP!
1. Darkness

**A/N : **I was thinking to publish this in a week or so when the story would have progress a bit more, but since I had so many demands from my one shot I've decided to publish it sooner. So here we go, first chapter is short but the whole story is much bigger. I guess if there's a lot of review and satisfied people then I'll update the next one more quickly.

Just so you know, this story could go into so many categories, and having only two to choose, I prefer to tell you that now: It will be a Smacked centered story with lots of angst/drama/romance/hurt & confort. And for those who would wonder, there'll be no main death character.

Thanks to my beta Blackdragoon189 which sticks to me since the first piece I presented to her some weeks ago. Hopefully you'll all like it as well.

**Summary :** a man finds a body. When he picks up the ID in the coat, it reads "Detective first grade Mac Taylor". Is Mac really dead? What will Stella do when she'll learn the news? Angsty Smacked...

**Disclaimer :** I don't own anything. CSI NY and its characters belong to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

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Darkness...

The blackness of the void circled him, pressuring his life and the last remnants of hope. He knew if he closed his eyes now it would be over for him. In a desperate wrenching breath, he inhaled. The cold stenchy air filled his lungs, freezing his throat and chest along the way. He trembled. The place he was had turned to be so cold, he couldn't feel his fingers anymore, already numb. A thin layer of ice was covering every piece of rocks and metal that he could come in contact with. Even the wall against his back was covered with the same damned ice, sucking the precious heat from his tired body. And it wasn't the small t-shirt underneath his shirt that would keep him from freezing.

He looked up, squinting through the obscurity, hoping to catch a glimpse of light or anything that would mean help was on its way. But sadly, his senses could only catch the dark breed of the silent gloom lingering above him. Trapped twelve thousand feet under the dark waters of life, with no safe line to go back to the surface, his hope was slowly fading, as silence filled his senses. His body was drained of his strength, each move costing more energy and sending jolts of pain through his tired muscles.

He was alone. And he was going to die alone. He sighed, thinking that in the end, he was probably deserving his fate.

_You couldn't kill someone and use your free card to get out __of it like that. Sometimes it didn't work; life had to teach you a lesson. _He let out a small gasp, as the piece of metal lodged in his side slightly moved inside, tearing more flesh and sending a new wave of hot pain through his body. He took a long shallow breath; and now he was going to pay the high price for it. As his fingers pressed on his side, he felt the hot thick liquid seeping through the dressing, warming his cold fingers in a sick kind of way. His head dropped back against the wall, and his eyes closed for a moment, the cold rock cooling his burning head.

_The hell anyway_, he cursed._ It's not like if anyone's gonna miss me. _Not that he knew that for certain though.

He raised his head and opened his eyes, even though it was futile to try to see in the dark. Carefully, he folded his arms around his chest trying to push away the cold death awaiting him. He would fight whatever the odds were. His elbows and shoulders cried painfully against the move as the cold had already settled in, making them new enemies to his will to survive. He winced, but tried to remain focused, and not dislodge the bandage of fortune wrapped around his side. Although the wound had reopened, he wasn't sure how much blood he was losing. With the blindfolded obscurity, all he could do was guess and hope. Hope he still had some time. He had been careful not to pull on the damp and cold black shirt stuck on his skin. But, the hot pain still flared through his side, as if somebody was wiggling a heated blade through his flesh. He swallowed hardly holding back the bile coming to his mouth. He wasn't going to last any longer, not with the temperature dropping like that and the hole in his side leaking more blood with each minute.

Slowly, he felt his eyes shutting again, darkness closing in further. His head dropped back to the cold wall where he was leaning on. The odds were against him, he knew that. He was going to die alone, in this goddamn place stinking like a sewer. He gasped again as the pain flared through his chest, his heart beating faster. He clenched his jaw under the hot flare and sipped carefully the cool air through his lips. Beads of cold sweat ran down his temples, rolling the length of his burning neck, sending more chills to his quivering body.

Since the start, this whole situation had been hell. He was screwed. He exhaled with difficulty. Each breath taking away the little warmth remaining in his tired body, mocking him as it vanished into the cold oppressing darkness. He closed his eyes. Even if the blood loss wasn't going to kill him right away, the added freezing temperature would make sure it was over for him. Opening his eyes he squinted again at the obscurity. All his senses were slowly shutting down one by one. His arms were numb and he could barely move his body; his legs having lost all sensations a long time ago. Only the cold sickening feeling of helplessness and loneliness sank in slowly inside his mind.

_Yes, it i__sn't going to be long now_, he thought, as he recalled how it all started. Everything had gone from a very bad situation to his worst predicament in only a matter of hours. In a last fight for survival, his thoughts tried to cling onto a good memory, something that would help him to make it through, something dear he would at least be able to take with him in this glacial darkness. But his mind was as empty as the cold blackness surrounding him.

His eyes watered, his brain too tired to register. No one would see if he was giving up in this endless night. No one was coming. All he really knew was that he was going to die alone in a place he couldn't name, he couldn't see. Even the warm shining light of the sun was like a distant memory, a forgotten dream he wasn't sure had ever existed but in his mind. That's how he was going to end, not bathed by a smiling summer sun, but consumed by the freezing scorn of darkness.

_T__hat's what you get for killing a cop_, he was painfully reminded, as his thoughts drifted back to the moment he woke up in this nightmare...in these darkness.

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**A/N :** Okay, so here it's the time to tell me what you thought of it, and maybe I'll put the next chapter sooner... and this one will be much longer, I promise...


	2. Falling from heaven

**A/N:** Since I got a lot of demands, and this chapter was ready then here we go, chapter 2. But I must warn you that the next chapters won't be updated as fast as those. I'm doing my best to cut the delays but at one point the story is still in the creation process, so the chapters would have to get out of my mind first, sorry...

But I can tell you this, you can expect long chapter as this one for the following parts. Hope you enjoy...

**Summary :** a man finds a body. When he picks up the ID in the coat, it reads "Detective first grade Mac Taylor". Is Mac really dead? What will Stella do when she'll learn the news? Angsty Smacked...

**Disclaimer :** I don't own anything. CSI NY and its characters belong to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

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_...several hours before..._

Buzz..... Buzzzz..... Buzzzzzzz....

The sound echoed in his mind. Buzzing and beating painfully beneath his skull. Tiredly his hand reached for the alarm clock, hoping it would be enough to stop the forming headache threatening to explode. Only he quickly found out he couldn't move his hand. Something wet and heavy was pressing it against a cold slimy ground. _Ground?_ _What? _Was all his tired mind could form as he slowly became aware of the reality around him. Somewhere far from him the buzz continued echoing. Too far to be in his bedroom, he realized. Where the hell was he?

With painstaking efforts, he opened his eyes to a dark night. At first he thought he was still asleep and blinked trying to shave off the sand of sleep. But as he squinted more through the night, the only thing he could see was total darkness. He was either blind or somewhere with no light. _It's a bad joke_, was his first thought, his heart taking more beats than his body really needed. One more time, he blinked not sure he could trust his own senses anymore. But as he fought to clear his vision and lifted his chin to move, his head became heavy. A loud pounding began to hammer beneath his temples. He felt as if he had been on a ring and took a beating, only he had been on the wrong side of the glove. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he tried to gather his thoughts and focus on the present situation.

A thought bubbled at the surface of his mind._ Maybe that's what happened!_ _I drank too much and got beaten by some security guard or something._

Again he tried to move his arm but a rough iron bar was pinning it to the ground. What happened to him?

Then, the buzz stopped dead, leaving only a cold silence to answer his questions. After a moment, he realized something else was making a small sound far away, some kind of plopping. In a low and rhythmic beating, the sound echoed to the pounding headache beneath his eyes. He cursed whoever was responsible for this as his forehead dropped back onto a thick spongy matter, eyes closed.

That's when, he started to feel it. The cold and insidious sneaking hand of a thick liquid wetting his clothes, freezing his entire body. It was everywhere on the ground beneath him; a cold and sticky mud. His whole body was trapped, and he couldn't move. His face was cold too, probably covered with more of this freezing sludge. The cold was everywhere. Fear crept in his mind when he could barely move his legs nor feel them. A bit dizzy, his eyes opened slowly.

He couldn't really see much as his vision was engulfed in a dark blur. He tried to move his other hand, and this time was rewarded as he freed it from the cold mud with a sucking sound. His left side was free, and he was counting on it to get himself out of whatever was pressuring his back to the ground.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his left arm, his fingers deepening into the wet and greasy mud beside him. He then stuck his elbow under the heavy panel weighing on his body, hoping to lift it and give himself enough room to slip away from it.

He hoped only part of the rough material was over him, otherwise, well otherwise he was really screwed. He played on the forces in action, knowing he just needed a small space to crawl out from it. As he managed to raise his arm vertically, between the panel and the ground, he felt the pressure on his back and right arm easing a bit. Acting on pure adrenaline, he pushed further. Pain exploded in his arm as it was taking too much weight on it, crushing his elbow. He bit his lips, muffling a groan as his thoughts focused on getting out.

Hopefully, it was enough to free his right arm. He pushed on his legs. His knees cracked as if they were working for the first time and sent jolts of pain. But he couldn't afford to wallow in pain. Pushing the pain aside, he quickly crawled out, not even caring when traitorous splinters protruding from the panel bit his left shoulder as adrenaline was pumping through his veins. Although, he felt something warm slowly leaking under his clothes and rolling down his back, he kept pushing on his legs giving all his strength. Almost halfway, he puffed heavily and stopped. His head dropped down into the cold mud cooling his burning forehead. His head was about to explode. His muscles were strained and pleading him to stop. His body was aching and the simplest move felt like a terrible effort. He didn't know why he was suddenly feeling so tired, but he had to go on, and so swallowed the rising bile, ready to get out no matter what. But it was without counting on bad luck.

"Oh god," he gasped at a sharp pain burst in his shoulder, the panel pressing further on his back. The splinters were cutting into more flesh with the help of the heavy panel; crushing his elbow and wrist. His left fingers clawed painfully into the soggy mud, trying to keep his arm up against the panel. If it slipped now it was over for him. There was no way he would be able to lift that panel again.

Sucking up the pain, he offered a final effort as his arm reached in front of him. His fingers slipped in the soggy mud before his hand caught a rug material made of concrete. As he clung desperately into it, the thing seemed strong enough to resist his weight, and he pulled himself out with a deep groan. As soon as his chest was out of the panel, he rolled on his right side, freeing his legs and then his left arm. For a second, the splinters deepened more in the tender flesh before he could fully pull his arm out in a cry. The heavy panel cracked in a yawn as his arm was now free and crumbled in a resounding thud.

Though the ground was damp, black mud seeping through anything, the panel was covered of heavy scattered pieces of broken plaster. Now free, it lifted in the air a giant cloud of angry dust before it swallowed him in a ghostly hand. Unfortunately, it was too dark for him to see what was coming, or he would have taken a deep breath and tried to cover his mouth. Instead, the nasty cloud caught him breathing heavily as he was trying to slow down his heartbeat. Expecting fresh air, his throat quickly filled with heavy and itching particles. He choked on the dry sand scorching his throat, and fell on his knees as the air started burning his lungs and trachea.

His eyes watered under the burning fire, blurring his vision. His heart beat fast behind his ears. Trying to get more air, he gulped avidly at the toxic air and was run by a wave of nausea as his stomach churned. His breath came in short rasps, and he was about to pass out, when the air grew lighter, oxygen finally finding its way toward his weary lungs as the cloud subsided, in a silky veil of white dust.

After what seemed an eternity, he was finally able to breathe without coughing at each breath. Cursing his bad luck, he spilt the taste of dry plaster filling his mouth, trying uselessly to get rid of the dust covering now his throat. It was like swallowing an entire dune. His jaw tightened even more as his fingers pattedslightly at the soaked fabric covering his left shoulder and arm. Blood was slowly oozing from the opening cuts. He sighed, picturing the crimson flesh torn under the garment, and already reddening his shirt. Although it was painful, he would survive. At least it wasn't a total bad luck, he decided, trying to keep a positive attitude toward this mess. A light cough cut his thoughts when he looked down at the broken panel on the ground, a deep frown creasing his face. Well more like squinting down, he corrected, as he couldn't even see his hands.

Blind, he patted the rough wooden panel and stepped clumsily around it. It was a long and squared piece of wood, so big he guessed it was probably from a wall. _How the hell did I end up under a wall? _His fingers slowly scanned the place trying to find an explanation.

Raising his head, he noticed far away above him, a shy light scattering its faint rays down, as if an angelic light was cutting through the dark fabric surrounding him. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough for him to see distinct things, and so he would have to stick with sparse shapes. Yet, it was the first gleam of hope since he woke up, and he wasn't ready to give up. His hopes up, a warm energy rose through his tired muscles. _If there's light, there's a way out_, _and possibly a rescue party looking for me._

The coughing almost forgotten, he raised himself to his feet but stop dead when he suddenly felt a flare of pain flashing through his right side, a faint moan escaped his lips. _Not again!_ _Can't I get a damn break?_ Why does he have to be in such a mess? He cursed mentally as the air grew heavy around him. He felt light headed; a wave of dizziness hit him. Inhaling a deep breath not to fall backwards, he put a knee down into the sludge, splashing more wet mud onto his paints as he winced under the pain. He pressed delicately on his side, and muffled a curse as his fingers came back covered with a thick liquid; blood, and growled more when he noticed the metallic ring hanging loosely around his right wrist.

"What the hell is that? " he cursed between his teeth.

Racking his brain, he tried to remember the last thing he had done that could have sent him into this misery, but his thoughts were jumbled and each try provoked a wave of dizziness followed by a cold, flashing pain slashing through his brain. He breathed heavily as unexpected images came to his mind; crashing rocks, melting iron twisting through a whirlwind of flame and black dust printed before his eyes as an ocean of screams wrenched his ears. He could hear them all, beating beneath his skull, as if they were trying to escape his mind; their prayers and shouts giving a new meaning to the word nightmare. _It can't be true._ _They aren't real! It just a nightmare!_ _A freakin' damn nightmare, _his mind screamed.

And then, the cries and screams faded. He closed his eyes, not sure of what had just happened. Was he nuts? _What does it mean?_

But then, as he was taking a deep breath, he felt it again, but it was different this time; like a tidal wave submerging his body, drowning his consciousness, swallowing him into infinite oblivion.

His hope was gone, how could he live? How could he live? These single pulsing words were all he could remember, all but that suffocating, wrenching pain seizing his heart and chest. He was suffocating. Air couldn't fill his lungs anymore. He wouldn't be able to live now. He knew he was dead inside. His life was dead. His very being was gone. He desperately tried to breathe, but his lungs remained painfully empty. His hands dropped into the cold sludge before him to support his heaving body. Panting and gasping for air, he tried to shave as much as he could of this awful memory that seemed carved in his brain, his DNA, his very heart and soul. He exhaled in short rasps. He was dead...or in hell.

"How,...what?" Was all his mind could formulate under that terrible void he could feel inside. Something was missing, but he didn't know what.

He knew, if he could remember everything he'd learn it was hell. He had been in hell. That feeling was so heavy to bear, no wonder he couldn't remember more than a few tormented shreds. As he convinced himself that it was just a nightmare, something that would not exist in his mind, unless he allows it, he felt his lungs starting to expand a bit, opening in full wealth, swallowing eagerly each breath. M_aybe it was a dream. It had to be._ And deep inside he prayed it was true, he didn't want it to be real. It hurt too much.

The pain was so strong, it frightened him. Though he could bet it was only a shed of it, like the top of an iceberg. Even now, he had no clue from where, or what it was? But frankly, he wasn't eager to know more now. No, he just wanted to forget about it. Bury it deep inside his being and never look back. Forgetting was a good thing, and he wanted to embrace it with his heart and soul, and never be reminded of it at all.

As he glanced around him, one question was now filling his tired mind as he could fully breathe. Where was he? And more important what happened to him? But then the answer would have to wait as a more pressing question surged in his mind; wrinkling his forehead and scaring the hell out of him. His lips opened and closed slowly not able to say it. His jaws clenched under the dreadful realization that he didn't know this simplest thing and yet so important to anyone; hisname. The line on his forehead deepened as he pushed all other thoughts away, looking for the precious information.

"My name is...." he mumbled in a croaked voice. "My name is...."

His heart began to beat louder beneath his temples as the answer was slipping away from him, out of reach. His fingers closed into a ball at his side, mixing the sludge and the blood into crimson goo. What the hell had happened to him? Who was he?

In a hopeless motion, he closed his eyes, his hands pressed on his pulsing temples hoping the pounding headache threatening to take his sanity would finally subside. He muffled a curse as his left hand was welcomed by a giant bump protruding from the left side of his face. Underneath his fingers, he felt the familiar and warm liquid wetting his hair, as his hand came back covered with a mix of fresh blood, dirt and sweat.

_What else is new?_ He growled at the dark opening over him. Was there any part of his body unharmed? He sighed heavily. He was tired and far from being out of this mess. At least, his legs were still good, he thought trying to see the bright side. His hands tiredly ran into his damp and messy hair. _I'm so screwed._

After several minutes of deep breaths interrupted by loud coughing, he turned a weary sight to the mess he was in, noticing for the first time, the dust and shadowy bent poles spiking through pieces of walls all around him. His eyes were probably getting use to a no-light environment, helping him this time, though he had to squint at the things for a long period of time before seeing a complete shape._Even t__he aftermath of a battle__ doesn't look like this wreck._ But fear was starting to creep up his neck as he realized the place seemed long gone deserted. Between shadows and the faint rays of light, he distinguished what might have been the old basement of some kind of building. Looking more carefully, it seemed the whole building had crumbled on itself.

So the good news was that he was probably in a city; the bad would be that the whole building had collapsed on itself, and judging by the rusty pipes and the amount of plaster dust this was a really old building. Meaning he might just be in an abandoned suburb. To add to that, he was in the wrong story. Beneath all this wreck, there was no way anyone could hear him calling for help. He let out a weary breath.

He had no idea if anyone was looking for survivors, or if anyone was looking for him. He desperately wanted to know, but all his memories were just slipping away, all but those ragged terrifying images tearing his heart. Worn out from the loss of his own identity and his decreasing state, he finally gave up on the where and who, raison taking over. He had a more urgent matter to deal with right now. How the hell was he going to get out of here? _And where is here anyway?_ But first he had to take care of his wounds if he wanted to have time to get out of this damn hell, alive.

Carefully, he unbuttoned his shirt, the thick cold smudge sticking it to his black t-shirt underneath. With the faint light, all his clothes looked the same as a thin, white dust was covering pretty much everything, from head to toe. And so he wasn't going to find any clue to help with his jumbled memory. He sighed, slightly lifting the t-shirt to check the wound. A wince carved his face as the fabric grazed at the skin and pulled on a raw wound. Very slowly, he lifted the wet and bloody fabric revealing a small crimson hole in his side. Cool air came immediately in contact with his sweaty skin, sending chills along his body. Wherever the hell he was, this place was cold and probably would be cooler as adrenaline would wear off with time. He sighed, his gaze leaving the small puffy cloud forming before his mouth.

Cleaning his hand as much as he could from the mud covering his fingers, although his clothes were covered by the wet freezing sludge as well, and despite the shooting pain, he pressed gently on the skin near the wound, checking if it was deep as there was no exit wound in his back. It was a clean opening and besides the throbbing ache slashing through his side, he concluded that whatever had gone in, hadn't done any deep damage besides the hole.

_A break at least__,_ he thought. He didn't know why or how, but he knew it was too far from any vital organs to be deadly. He thought for a moment, pondering what this could mean. Maybe he was a doctor or someone like that. That would explain why he knew this kind of stuff or wasn't much upsetabout it. He sighed not really closer to an answer than a few minutes ago. His gaze wandered back between the shadows circling him and the wreckage where he pulled himself out. He hissed as he pulled his shirt off, and twisted it from one sleeve to the other to finally wrap it around his waist; the bigger part pressed against his wound to stop the bleeding. Then he tied both sleeves over his stomach with a knot; his tight lips letting out a gasp of pain. He hoped it would hold long enough until he'd be out of here.

He turned his head toward a rhythmic sound, coming from the right; some kind of drops falling repeatedly onto something smooth and wet. Pressing lightly on his side with his palm, he stood up, and headed toward the sound. If it was water, it had to be dripping from something like a pipe or a hose; meaning he might cling into it, and perhaps if it was strong enough, help him to makehis way up.

His arm nestled protectively over his wounded side as walked slowly into the darkness. He staggered a moment taking support on the nearest protruding pole. His hand gripped the cold iron bar to keep him steady as he took a deep breath, clearing his mind and shaving away the dizziness. _Come on! Suck it up! _His mind scolded as he swallowed the sandy taste of dust; the plaster dust still lingering in his dry mouth.

He took a few steps and then managed to climb over a bunch of tangled pieces of rocks, pipes and poles. Most of it looked like it came from walls similar to the one he had slipped from. He cursed as his foot slipped on something slick, and he tumbled forward, crashing clumsily on his left side. A small grunt raked his throat as he rolled on his back grateful he hadn't fallen right on his wound. Though, if he wasn't sure before, he could now swear the shooting pain in his left was from one or two broken ribs. His head dropped back onto the ground as he rested, the cold sticky sludge soaking his hair. As he lay motionless, lulled by the rhythmic beating of the dripping water, he suddenly heard another sound. It sounded very familiar though. _It's a phone,_ his mind screamed overwhelmed by hope_._ A new energy filled his body as he got up wincing.

Still struggling to make his way through the wreck, he finally arrived close to the sound as it stopped. His eyes scanned avidly the whole obscurity before him, hoping to catch a glimpse of something. He froze, his foot had walked on something too smooth to be a rock. Putting the phone aside for a moment, he looked down and sighed unable to see anything else than a big dark shadow beneath him. His knees cracked as he crouchedin the freezing sludge,his fingers starting to rummage through the cold mud and rock. Between shards of wood and steel, his fingers finally grazed on something smooth and tender.

He held back his breath. Even covered with mud, he would have recognized that feeling anywhere; skin. A bit stunned, he probed further to reveal a hand. Frowning, his eyes darted through the obscurity, trying to see who it belonged to, and maybe if that person was still breathing, otherwise he would have a dead body on his hand. He smirked, noticing his heart didn't even bother to skip a bit at the word. Could be the proof he was working in the medical field. _Or as a coroner_. He frowned, wondering if working with dead people was such a good activity for a living. Somehow he didn't feel at ease with this idea. It kind of bothered him. Death couldn't be a sane business. He quickly put the idea aside, and started to dig around the arm stuck under a panel.

Suddenly, the same ring as before echoed in the darkness. Whoever the phone belonged to, was missed, although this time it felt more pressing and urging to be found. He cursed, finding that phone before it'd stop, was going to be almost impossible, unless he'd just happen to step on it._ Damned darkness!_ He grunted angrily, if only he could see a bit. He squinted, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. _It's close, very close._ But before he could do anything, the ring stopped dead. Only silence remained. He cursed, one more opportunity to get the hell out of here that had vanished right under his nose. With a small curse, he went back digging around the arm.

"Sir?" he asked, as he looked at the obviously male hand. He slightly shook the arm trying to get some physical response. "Sir, can you..." his voice trailed off as he stifled a loud rasping cough and winced; his chest run through long tiring spasms.

The pain coursed through his lungs and side as he shook under the cough, his lungs now on fire. Bent over, he focused on breathing slowly, one small breath at a time. After a moment, the burn slowly subsided in his throat, but the fire remained in his lungs, burning like a million of hot thorns embedded in the tender flesh. Only able to take a shallow breath, his dry mouth swallowed slowly, trying to cool his burningthroat. His left arm taking support on what look like the half of a bathtub, he tried to call again. To his surprise, his voice came out weak and coarse like a grunting whisper, barely recognizable as human.

"Sir, if you can't talk," his voice grated through his ears. "Just... squeeze my hand," he managed to let out between raspingcoughs. "...Sir ?"

He waited a moment but no sound came back, only the ghost of his grating voice echoed faintly in the darkness, reminding him how alone he was. Loneliness started to weigh on his shoulders as he looked down at the shadows of the hand. If the man was still alive then he was either dead or unable to speak. Either way, it was up to him to get him out if he was still alive.

With caution, his fingers dug deeper into the freezing mud. At first, it was easy as his fingers deepened easily into the cold, smooth matter. But soon, the mud was replaced by layers of frozen gravel, and he had to stop; his scrapped fingers numb. Looking down at the space he had made, he was able to see that the upper arm was now free. Though, it was obvious that the panel was still pinningthe man to the ground at the elbow level, digging him out wasn't going to be easy.

His arm carefully cuddling his side, he stood up and observed the panel for any weak point. With the dim light coming from upstairs, and his eyes now used to the dark night, he noticed a small groove in the panel. A faint smile carved his lips; an idea forming in his mind when he saw the long steel bar underneath, and preventingthe panel from falling completely on the man.

Cautiously, he knelt near the top end, and began to lift it, the main weight pressing on his left shoulder. With a small crack, the panel started to slowly move down as he pushed on his legs and lifted the cracked wall over his shoulders.

A crack warned him he had to hurry before the panel start to break in half and fall onto the man underneath. His face reddened under the strained effort he was putting his body through, but it was the only way he had found so far. Taking another deep breath, he pushed with his hands. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples as he ignored the dullpain erupting in his right side, and the panel was lifted a few inches more. The hot pain turned icy, and he began to shiver, streaksof sweat now running down his back. It was like someone was twisting a knife in his side, a cold and icy Popsicle knife, and then taking it out and stabbing again and again. He muffled a cry of agony as the pain reached a new level; the panel now close of his head. The cold plastered wall began to slide from his sweaty fingers. With one last effort, he pushed it to the side just before the pain exploded in his side. As soon as the panel touched the ground, a heavy cloud of dust flew from the wreck, wrapping both men in a thick white cocoon.

His legs buckled under him, and he dropped in the sludge, drained. One hand before his mouth, he looked at his side, the other pressing tiredly over the wound. Despite the throbbing pain, he tried to remain calm. Only when he brought back his fingers covered with thick crimson blood, he knew something had gone terribly wrong. He prayed somehow the guy he pulled out would be in a better shape, as he wasn't going to be of a lot of help with blood oozing this fast. If not then, they were both screwed. He cuddled his arm to his side, pressing shakily on the wound and hoping it would slow down the new flow.

"Sir?" he asked again, hoping the guy had heard him.

Looking down between the iron bars and dusty rocks he could now distinguish the back of the man, and his dark coat; the other part still remaining hidden by the darkness. Standing up with difficulties, he stepped over the bars, the man was only five feet from him. Small pieces of wood broke under his weight as his foot crushed a thin wooden pole; reminding him at the same time he had to be careful. More careful, he pushed aside the shattered remains before he was finally able to reach the man and lifted a few bars still trapping his legs; a small panel still hiding his head.

Pushing the small panel aside, he let out a small gasp, discovering with horror he was already too late for the man. A long heavy pole protruding at the place his head should have been, leaving no room to guess about the man's condition, though a dark crimson pool underneath confirmed there was nothing he could do for the poor guy. He was dead.

"Damn it!" he let out, before coughing again, the gritty dust still itchinghis throat. _The poor guy had no chance to survive to that._ He knelt near the body. Somehow it felt oddly familiar, but he quickly shaved the feeling as he looked at the corpse. The man was wearing what looked like a dark suit under a coat. He didn't know if it was a dark blue or black, with the poor light given by the crushed ceiling, though it didn't really matter now.

Rummaging through the man's pockets hoping to find a clue about why he was there, his fingers met something cold and metallic before they pulled it out. He frowned, his eyes darting at the metal plate clung to a leather wallet. As he twisted it between his fingers, the metal caught the faint light coming from the ceiling, and reflected the image of a golden badge; the blue letters of NYPD carved in the middle.

"A cop?" his grating voice echoed.

Just under the letters, four digits appeared in the same golden glow : 8433. Looking back at the man, he wondered how this cop had ended up in this mess with him.

Bending closer, his eyes caught the glimpse of something reflected on his jacket. As he pulled on the lapel, some dust was shaved away revealing a small roundpin. _That's weird._

But his attention was already on something else, as his eyes were now focused on a dark object near the man, covered by the same white dust; inches from the man's hand laid a gun.

He swallowed the knot forming in his throat, as his mind was adding the pieces together. If the cop was here and his gun out, he could easily guess he had used it. He sighed, letting the idea sank in. Meaning the hole in his side and the icy pain slashing through his chest could be from a bullet. That wasn't good. If he had made a cop shoot at him then he was in a worsemess than he thought.

But before concluding on anything, he thought he'd better check the cop for anything useful. Frowning, he checked the other pockets in the coat and suit and stopped when his fingers came back wet with blood. As he looked closely, he found the coat soaked with blood. Searching for a wound on the cop's back, his fingers met the cold metal of a blade protruding an inch from his back. As dreariness started to weigh heavily on his shoulders, he lifted the man, turning him on his back. He needed to be sure. His throat tightened, his eyes piercing through the thick obscurity as he saw the white shirt soaked in blood; a short knife entering right under the stomach, the blade exiting near the backbone.

He looked back at the still form laid between the pieces of walls, and back at the badge in his hand. It wasn't hard to conclude what could have happened as he read the ID on the wallet. The man, known as detective Mac Taylor, had probably struggled with him; he deduced the knife belonged to him, making him a cop killer. _Mac Taylor's killer._

Slowly, he swallowed the hard truth. He was really screwed. He had killed a cop. He sattiredly into the cold sludge, making a sucking sound. His right hand ran aimlessly through his short damp hair as the small metallic sound of the cuffs sliding down his arm echoed like a lonely complain in the darkness. What should he do now?

But before he could really think about it, it started again. That same damn ring mocking him to be found, although this time, he could hear it close to him. As he moved to his left, he saw it. Like a shining beacon in the middle of a dark hurricane, it was there. A faint shy glow, just under the man's left leg.

As he picked it up, the ringing stopped dead. He pressed on the screen, the shy bluish glow glistening on his tired features. It read five missed call. Someone had tried to call this cop; some woman named Stella, and obviously she was worried sick for him, he sighed. _Stella...._ _Who is that ?_

**x****xx**

_TBC..._

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_**A/N:** so here is the time to leave your comments and help me to write faster. So go ahead and tell me what you thought of it...

Can you guess who is the mysterious man? Raise the stakes...:)


	3. Where the hell are you, Mac?

**A/N : **Here we go, for all the Smackers out there, here she comes. From now on, I will try to update every week end. Hope you like this longer part, other chapters should be the same length.

A great thanks again for my beta Blackdragon189 who is editing and correcting my bad english. Thank you so much girl!

And to all my reviewers, AIP, lily moonlight, SMackedFan, rocksmacked, fur3v3r, LILKENNY, StellaBonaseraTaylor and to those who put my story in their alert or just read thanks so much guys, you rock. You've made me very happy and flying over the clouds

**Summary :** A man finds a body. When he picks up the ID in the coat, it reads "Detective first grade Mac Taylor". Is Mac really dead? What will Stella do when she'll learn the news? Angsty Smacked...

**Disclaimer :** I don't own anything. CSI NY and its characters belong to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

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The white, shining frost crawling upon the glass towers was starting to slowly melt as the sun cast its lazy afternoon rays over the frozen New York City. In the eternal battle between fire and ice, the cold weather had plunged the rumbling city under several feet of white, crusty snow; but now the sun was claiming its right and was shining, mockingly, its warm rays through the frozen towers. Although all informed New Yorkers knew it wasn't going to last, as the weather channel had announced a big snow storm for the next five days, yet, any pedestrians and street sellers welcomed happily its orange-yellow light with a smile as it started to warm bodies and souls in need of heat and comfort; all, but one.

This one soul in particular turned toward its shining reddish disc, a look of melted worry and torment; her green, emerald eyes casting the burden of an unbearable guilt.

Her sight went tiredly back to her computer, sending her curly, golden brown hair dancing over her shoulders as she sighed, again. For the last two hours, she hadn't stopped doing that, glancing over and over; from the frosty window, to her glowing computer screen, to the clock on the wall, to finally end on her phone near the keyboard, hoping this time he was going to call. But he hadn't. Her phone had hopelessly remained silent. It was so unusual for him not to call back that she was really getting worried, although he had every right. She swallowed the guilty knot formed in her throat.

Slowly, Stella Bonasera stood up from her chair, walked to the glass wall of her office and opened the door. As she stepped outside, heading to the break room, her empty cup in hands, she peeped quickly toward Mac's office. In case he noticed her, she would pretext going for a coffee refill, which, wasn't too far from the truth though. Since the early morning, she hadn't taken a break, and was now really getting tired. She didn't recall taking the time for lunch either. She sighed, well, he probably hadn't eaten as well, as usual. She eyed nervously his empty chair. A quick glance at her watch told her, only five more minutes had passed since the last time she had checked. 5:32, she noted. He should be back by now, her mind repeated.

Wherever he went to interview a witness, it had never taken more than few hours for Mac Taylor, to talk to the guy and come back to the lab, unless... She bit her lips, not daring to think about it, unless something had happened, uttered her mind. She shook the threatening idea, he was probably avoiding her after this morning. Yeah, that was it, nothing else, but somehow she didn't know which one was the scariest thing; Mac Taylor avoiding her or being in trouble. She shook her head, of course the latter meant possible injuries, hostage situation or any of the craziest situations, he'd always find himself into. So yeah, the latter was definitely what scared the hell out of her.

As she entered the break room, she recalled the last time she saw him. It was this morning and not her best moment, she sighed as she grabbed the pot and poured the steaming black coffee into her cup. Leaning against the kitchen's railing, she let her eyes closed for a second, recalling their heated argument right before she had said those dreadful words, his baritone voice still echoing in her mind.

« Sorry Stella, but I don't buy his story. Even if the evidence point toward his innocence, I can feel it. He killed him."

His voice had stressed on the last words, the turquoise pool of his eyes gleaming with anger. After ten years of close friendship, she had come to learn the small details of his face and body when it comes to his emotions as he was so carefully bottling everything inside; and at the time she could have told his anger hadn't been turned toward her, but mostly to the case. A small smile curved her lips; if someone had asked her, she would have even been able to recount the number of times he had been angry at her as there hadn't been much.

"And he did it with a careful plan," he had continued on the same angry tone. "We just haven't found all the pieces yet."

She remembered noticing how tired his features were as he had hopelessly dropped his arms along his sides. As usual, he hadn't got much sleep lately, drowning himself into work. But despite his tired state, she had countered him, knowing all too well that they were both too tired to head in the right direction. But she had to speak her mind, let her heart drive her actions once again._ How stupid she had been! _It's only when you have lost something that you realize how precious it was, she thought.

Her hands on her hips, she had locked her emerald eyes with the green and bluish depth of his.

« He's a kid Mac. Like you said the evidences prove he killed him in self-defence." As she spoke, her voice had grown louder, raising an octave. "God damn it Mac! Simon, his father, was beating the crap out of him every night and day. His foster father," she had said, emphasizing the last word. That's it the word had been said:_ foster father_.

He smirked at the words. "That doesn't give him the right to take a life, Stell." His hand had pointed toward the file open on his desk, before he smashed it angrily. "No, this kid has framed his foster dad to be sure he wouldn't survive to the attack. And we have no proof, no evidence to lock him up."

He sighed as he turned and looked at the window behind him, as if the falling snow could bring him some answers. "And he's just going to walk away from it," he had finally uttered.

Then his blunt anger had disappeared, his voice taking a softer tone, "I know you want to believe him Stell, I know you do," his voice had trailed off searching for the right words, "you kind of bonded with him the minute we learnt he was in the system." He let out a deep, sad sigh. "But he's not like you, Stell. He's not like you." He had added, turning toward her a tired gaze. And he was tired, not just because of this case. She had seen his weariness weighing more and more on his shoulders these last months as they were all coping with Angell's death.

She closed her eyes. She shouldn't have pushed him. She was tired too and should have known what explosive combination a sleep deprived Mac Taylor and a tired Stella Bonasera could make in such a bad argument. She should have backed away and shut up for once, she should have...

But she hadn't, instead, she had huffed in indignation. How had he dared to bring her past up with this case? He was probably thinking she was going to fall for his puppy weary eyes, but no! So instead of taking his gesture as an open hand, she had jumped on his words, her heart beating painfully behind her temples, as anger had raised to the surface.

"What do you mean he's not like me," she had swallowed, ire boiling beneath each words. "That I can't be objective, Mac? That I never got the courage to end what my father did to my foster sister? Maybe not, so you're right, but I didn't know at the time!" she blew out.

"Damn it Stella! It's not what I meant; don't try to twist my words!" He had thrown back his eyes wide open, and anger starting to rise in his own voice too. "You damn well know you're going with your heart on this one!"

His green ocean pools had connected with her emerald eyes; his warmth trying to cool the boiling anger seeping from her lips. He had tried to reason with her head, hoping to calm her down.

But again, as usual, she had acted with her heart; like he had just told her. She had let anger and rage flushing all over her; deep, burning rage against her parents who had abandoned her as a kid, fierce rage against the system that had allowed those scum bags like her foster dad or Simon's to look after foster kids and stay free, even after they had beaten and raped them, and finally rage against the society, damn it, even rage against Mac for bringing up the subject and letting her break in pieces before him.

As rage and anger had quickly consumed her heart, she had let it go; all her frustrations, all the misery that had happened to her, those last six years; the loss of her condo, Frankie, Angell's death, the mistake she had made with Adam. It was too much to be kept inside, too much to bear, too much to deal with, and so she had opened the dam.

Her words rang in her mind like sharp blades as she tried to stop her shaking hands holding the warm cup. All her fear, anger and rage, had been unleashed at the very man that had saved her life more than once, a man, she proudly called her friend, a man she would lean on when trouble comes.

"Yeah, my heart Mac," she had scoffed, "you should it try, once in a while." Even to her, she had been surprised by the dry bitterness behind those words.

Her coldhearted words echoed painfully as she recalled the burning need for revenge, to lash out that angry tsunami on the one who had dared to provoke her wrath. Heated anger burning inside her chest and stomach demanded to get free. _How the hell can he think I'm the only one not objective on this case? What about him and his past? How could he not be objective at all? _And then she remembered hearing her words, like if it was someone else uttering them, anger simmering behind each syllable.

"Just because you didn't have the nerve to press that damn trigger when you were fourteen, doesn't mean everyone else doesn't and will remain frozen as a friend calls for help," she had snapped. There, she had said it, her face was red from the heated anger burning inside her.

But as soon as her words had left her lips, she had realized what final mistake she had done. _Oh god._ She hadn't said that. She couldn't have said that!

She had watched as her friend had frozen before her. Her harsh words shattering his unshielded heart and soul. His mouth had opened desperately, but no words had come out, as if air had been sucked out of his lungs to never come back. Heavy silence had filled the room as the two had remained frozen in shock. Her own jaw had fallen open, mimicking his hopelessness, as her gaze had anxiously searched the reassuring contact of his eyes.

And then slowly, she had seen his jaw slightly tighten, as if life had started to flow again in his veins; a faint but quick pulse erupting and beating beneath his temples. Shock, anger and deep, wrenching pain had etched into his green ocean eyes, his reassuring warmth all gone. She remembered thinking she had killed him, not really him, but his soul, his heart. What had made Mac Taylor tick was dead when he had turned around his desk without a word. His ashen face had passed inches of her, as if she hadn't been there.

She had drowned a deep breath, the sweet scent of his cologne lingering for the last time in her presence. Closing her eyes, she had thought he was going to yell at her, like some damn drill sergeant, lashing out a well, deserved word that would cut her in half and kick her back to the pathetic world of the unworthy frankly, she would have let him to do it, hell, even encourage him to it. But he hadn't yelled nor even burst into the wrath she had expected, instead, he had just grabbed his jacket, turning his back to her in a heart wrenching silence. Her stomach churned as she recalled how his muscles had tensed on the back of his neck, his whole body stiff and moving on autopilot.

"I'm sorry.... I didn't mean it...." she had said, her voice breaking the cold silence as she had tumbled on the words, realizing he was leaving. "Mac..." she had moaned, talking to his back, her hand trembling before her mouth. "I'm sorry...I...please... Mac..."

She remembered her croaked voice desperately calling his name as she had watched him pulling on his black coat over his jacket, his face out of her reach. Her heart had pounded hard in her chest, almost about to explode as she had stepped before the door to stop him from leaving. Her hand had lightly pressed on his chest in a desperate gesture to stop him from doing the ineluctable, the fast rhythm of his heart echoing her fear. She had frozen as she had seen his face, drained of all color, his features constricted in a painful turmoil, his dazzling smile forever lost. At that precise second, she had realized how much she had hurt him, as her sight had tried to make eye contact; but his deep green ocean eyes had carefully avoided her, locking her away from his feelings; he would not allow her to come closer this time. A suffocating silence had closed in on her as he had walked pass her to open the door without a word.

Stopping on the threshold, she had heard him taking a deep breath. Her heart had beaten madly behind her temples as she had hoped that perhaps he had changed his mind and was going to turn around and let her apologize. _Well, if that word could even be used after such an unforgiven mistake._

But then, she had painfully realized that he wasn't. In fact, she had seen with horror that he was fighting with himself to stand and not crumble before her, here, in the very place that meant so much for him. What had she done? An implacable weight had crushed her shoulders as he had finally resumed his faltering walk toward the elevator.

Fear gripped at her heart; she had never seen him like that, not even after Claire had died. And then, sudden realization had hit her. Of course she couldn't have seen him like that; after Claire's death, he had shelled back within himself, not allowing anyone to get too close to him. She swallowed hardly. No. The only one allowed close had been her, as she had helped him to open up more and more in the late years, lowering his barriers one by one; but then, the words she had thrown had just hit him with more violence and rage, tearing into his unprotected flesh and soul.

Defenseless and unprotected before her, that's what he had become_._ The words swirled in her mind. All those years she had patiently took steps to get closer to him, and to what? He had let her in and she had striken him at the first occasion. She cursed angrily at her selfish wrath. That's what she had done to him, hurting him more than any human weapon would ever do.

A wrenching pain seized her heart as she remembered when his name had escaped her mournful lips for the last time; her heart sinking further with each step he was taking away from her. She couldn't have hurt him, he was her best friend; the man she could lean on when time got tough, the man she hoped one day would let her in, the man she had never realized till now that she loved more than her own life.

How could she have done that to him? Hot tears stung her eyes as she had watched the elevator's door closed on his back; his shoulders were dropped and his head sagging heavily in front of him in a defeated posture.

And then, he was gone, her head reminded her. She had killed him. In fact, she had killed both of them as for now on there would be no rest until she was absolutely sure she had made amends. Somehow she had no idea how she would be able to, or, even if he would let her, but she had to try. He deserved it after all she had done and taken from him.

Of course he was right. She sighed heavily. She should have checked the evidences and try to remember the interrogation with the kid; all his ambiguous answers as Mac had pressed him. Now, she could see it. The kid had counted on his poor, beaten appearance to drive them away from the truth, to play her. But instead of going with her head like Mac, she had taken the opposite way and gone with her heart, and now Mac was paying a hell of a price for her mistake.

She drew a deep breath, trying to calm the restless churning in the pit of her stomach. This was going to take some time to erase it from his already too much, torn and wounded soul. Even with a patient and forgiving Mac, she knew her words had hurt him deeply, leaving a hell of a scar that she didn't know if it would ever heal. All her efforts to help him open up have been reaped away in a heartbeat, smashing and shattering ten years of friendship into pieces. She let out a deep heavy sigh, this wasn't like the one time she had pissed him off, breaking the lab's rules and flying to Greece.

No, today it was words, her words, spoken aloud and sharpened like a knife. Words she would never be able to take back, no matter what she would do. Words that would remain forever carved in his flesh and soul, new scars that would hurt him forever. She pinched the top of her nose, unable to take her thoughts away from what she had done to him.

What if he decided to never talk to her? How could she ever be able to make amends if he refused to see her again? How could she ever live if he couldn't forgive her?

Her guilty image floated in the black steaming liquid of her cup, as gloom wrapped its shadow around her soul. She had read somewhere,_ words could be as sharp as a blade and cut through soul and flesh as there was no shield to protect them from._ Now more than ever, she realized how close to the truth that writer had been.

She had flung a piercing knife through his heart, and now she had no clue on how to remove it and heal him without adding more pain.

Deep in her thoughts, Stella gazed at the sunset rays gleaming through the darting silver towers, wondering where Mac was, and for how long he would avoid her; she didn't hear Danny, nor even saw him, as he entered the break room, hobbling.

"Should I worry?" asked Danny with a light smile, his left hand firmly clung around his cane, as the other tossed his cup, playfully, on the counter, and watched it slid gracefully before it stopped inches of the pot. A wide grin sprayed over his face, as he pushed back his glasses, obviously very proud of his skillful move.

"Not bad, huh?" He threw, his voice filling the silent room.

Getting no reaction from Stella, he called her, intrigued by her silence. The call pulled her from her thoughts as she turned a pale face toward Danny.

"Uh....sorry. Whad did you say Danny?" Her tired voice echoed.

"Wow, sorry Stell but you look like hell. Are you worried about the case or is there something else?" He probed, raising a brow toward her.

Yes and no, she thought. How could she say that to Danny? Yes, she was worried and not just because she could have screwed up the case. In fact, that damned case could just go to hell, she didn't care. No, right now she wanted to know where Mac Taylor was; where her best and wounded friend was.

"Ah, just tired Danny, I guess," she lied. "Didn't get that much sleep last night. Probably the cold."

"Yeah. Some cold," he smirked. "Seems very contagious lately," he continued, a boyish grin curving his lips as he poured the steaming coffee into his cup and went to sit at the island. "Mac got the same."

She stopped dead at the mention of Mac's name. Her eyes locked with Danny's, hoping he wouldn't catch the anxiety rising inside her.

"What do you mean?" She anxiously questioned. Had Danny seen Mac lately? Then it meant he was back. Hope gleamed behind her emerald eyes as she straightened from her position. If Mac was back, then she had to go and talk to him. She had to apologize and... Her trail of thoughts were cut as Danny spoke.

"Ah nothing," he said. "Just caught him in the parking lot this morning when he was heading to his truck." He seemed to recall the moment as he looked up to the ceiling then down to his fingers, tearing the small, white bag of sugar. He spread the white powder over the black liquid, continuing, "I called him, but he seemed lost in his thoughts," his blue eyes looked straight at Stella. "Pretty much like you," he stated, a small smirk grazing his face in hope to light the darkened mood he could read on Stella's face.

Her eyes dropped back to the inside of her cup as she let out a long sigh, knowing what Danny was trying to do; cheer her up, but she didn't want it. She felt she didn't deserve it. She had hurt her best friend, and nothing should make the pain go away, not until he was fine too.

"Did you check the third round of fingerprints?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

Danny stared at her for a minute before losing his smile and replying on a more professional tone. "Yeah, I did. Not conclusive. I was unable to recover enough streaks to compare with the kid's."

His sight went back to his coffee, his hand mechanically stirring the black, hot liquid. If Stella wasn't up to discuss about what troubled her mind, then, it had to be more serious than he thought. Could it be linked to Mac, he wondered? Not wanting to press her further if she wasn't ready to talk, he stood up. His left leg grazed the creamy tiles as he spoke again.

"Well, I better finish my report, before Big Mac comes and asks for it."

He winced as he caught Stella tensing at the corner of his eye. _Ouch_, he thought, he had obviously pressed on the wrong topic. So it was linked to Mac. He cursed himself for being such an idiot.

Not wanting to get involved into what was going on between his two bosses, he quickly excused himself before taking his leave and headed to the hallway; releasing the breath he hadn't noticed he was holding.

"Not conclusive," repeated Stella as she found herself alone in the silent room.

Did Danny too think the kid was up to no good? Was she that blind that she hadn't been able to discern the lies from the truth? Losing track of time, she remained still in the kitchen; her mind still trapped to the coldhearted words she had flung at Mac, and his shocked, pained expression, forever etched before her eyes.

How could she have done that to him, after all he had done for her? Coming to Greece at the darkest time of her life, protecting and saving her, being her rock through all those years. _We help each other, that's what we do._ Her comforting, old spoken word echoed in her mind; it sounded so meaningless now, that she had just done the opposite, driving a deep wedge between them.

Another sad sigh escaped her lips as she got into motion and exited the break room. As soon as she entered her office, she closed the glass door, and slumped down in her chair, desiring nothing more than to be left alone to wallow in her guilt. But first she needed to try again, just in case. She wanted to be sure he was alright.

About to press on the speed dial of her cell phone, she raised her head as Lindsay's face popped inside her office, a file stuck under her arm.

"Hey Stell!" she called, a big smile on her face. "Have you seen Mac?"

Stella winced, her gut twisting painfully again at the sound of his name. God, if it was the price for hurting him, then be it, she mentally swore.

"No, I haven't seen him since this morning. Why?"

"Oh, he asked me about these results, saying it was important and to get in touch with him, as soon as I have them. But he's not in his office, and nobody recalls to have seen him since this morning, so, I wondered if you knew more before I call him."

_Since this morning... _The words echoed in her mind._ Is he really trying to avoid me, or is it something else? _Fear started to creep inside her. She didn't like the sound of that. No it wasn't like him. But right now, she prayed he was so pissed off about her that he had just left and nothing else had happened.

"Is it about Simon's case?" she questioned, hoping to find a clue.

"Yup. He said it could lead us to a new path." Lindsay shuffled through the sheets of the report in her hands, her eyes wandering over the lines. "I managed to find a trace of DNA mixed with the particulates, though I haven't found what they're made of, yet." She paused looking at a puzzled Stella.

A frown appeared on Lindsay's face as she saw worry and fear gleaming behind her friend's eyes. "Is everything okay?"

"I don't know Linds. I really don't know," Stella replied with a tired voice, shaking her head. "Just leave me the file. I'll check with Mac." _Like that I should be able to talk to him, _she added for herself as she took the file Lindsay was handing her. "Thanks."

"You two are okay?" probed the young CSI awkwardly as she stayed in front of Stella's desk, waiting.

Stella looked up, her emerald eyes locking with the darting hazel eyes as her friend was watching her with gravity. "Yeah, why do you ask?" she uttered weakly, her tone not really convincing.

Lindsay bit her lips, hoping she wasn't about to cross a line. Although she and Stella had a close friendship, she remained her boss."Well.... it was hard not to hear the two of you arguing in his office this morning."

"What?" _Great, now everybody knows...... Did they hear everything I said? God, I hope not._ "What exactly did you hear?" asked Stella, unsure she really wanted to know the answer as her heart began to beat harder in her chest.

"Just ramble, really," added quickly Lindsay as she saw Stella's panicked look. "The glass kinda muffled the whole heat."

She closed her eyes, glad nobody had heard the blow she had thrown to Mac. The subject was already too sensible to add anything more to it. For Mac, a very private man, having his life being thrown to gossip, then....God knows how he would react. Why did she have to give in to anger for god sake?

"We....I..." started Stella, her words quivering as she felt her eyes watering. Oh god, she wasn't about to break in front of Lindsay. Tightening her lips, she took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts before she spoke, "I may have..... backed him in a rough corner." Her eyes wandered onto the file on her desk, not really wanting to see the cold reprobation in Lindsay's eyes she was sure to find.

Lindsay lightly nodded, understanding all too well what 'backed in a rough corner' implied for Stella and Mac, as one had to really push hard on his buttons to get this kind of reaction from Mac. As a former marine, and cop, he had seen the worst side of humanity; losing his wife in the devastating and ignominious attack on 9/11 being the peak of all his nightmares, so for him to react this way, it meant it had to be a very bad argument.

"For what it's worth, you know," Lindsay offered, with a shy smile. "...Life taught me that where there's true friendship, there's always hope." She gently squeezed Stella's hand. "I'm sure he'll be back when he's ready, and you'll be able to put things right. Mac isn't the kind of guy to hold a grudge very long, even if he plays the rough ass sometimes." Her face lighted at the image of her boss. "He's too nice for that."

Pushing lightly on the glass door, she gave a reassuring smile at Stella before she left.

"I hope you're right," Stella whispered, as she watched her friend walk away.

Still deep in her thoughts, she resumed her last idea and picked up her cell phone. As she pressed on the speed dial, she hoped this time he would finally agree to answer. Somewhere deep inside, she prayed he hadn't because he was angry, and not because something else had happened. She closed her eyes as the beeps started to echo in her ears, and slowly sank back in her chair, her fatigued muscles starting to release the tension of the day. The beeps continued to ring regularly, and nobody was answering.

_C'__mon Mac, pick up! Yell at me, scream, I don't care, but just let me know you're okay._

After what seemed an eternity, she was about to hang up, when she saw the connection appeared on her screen. Her eyes widened, as she hastily stuck the phone back to her ear, relieved he was okay and ready to talk. Maybe there was hope, she thought, remembering Lindsay's words, a weak smile displaying on her lips, maybe they would be fine after all.

New warmth heated her body as she remained suspended eagerly to the expecting sound of his voice, which should break the silence in the next seconds. But her hope quickly faded as a low coarse voice answered; an unknown male voice.

"Mac?" she frowned, thinking it had to be him; she had just mistaken the voice that's all, she said to herself, it had to be him.

Maybe he had been drinking, explaining that coarse tone; even though she had rarely seen him tend to do that, but she had hurt him, and as she recalled the look of hurt on his face when he had left, she had to admit, she had no idea how he would react. She waited patiently for him to answer, hoping he had no second thoughts about the call and wasn't about to hang up on her. But then, she heard shuffling and a deep sigh. The drinking theory sounded even more probable with all this rumbling and shuffling. She decided to speak first again before he changed his mind.

"Mac?" she asked in a low, gentle tone. "Are you okay?"

Her heart stopped in her chest when the deep coarse voice broke the silence.

"No..... sorry," answered the broken voice.

"What the h....Mac?" _Something's wrong! _Fear started to seize her body, as chills ran down her spine, hoping she got it wrong.

The hard pounding of her heart beat loudly beneath her temples as she tried to distinguish the words through the gritting interferences. Where the hell was he to have that kind of disturbed signal?

"...not Mac," the voice replied.

_Not Mac, __what? How? Why? Where was he if it wasn't him? _All questions burst in her head, as panic and confusion struck her mind.

"I can't hear you!" she yelled in the phone, hoping with all her heart she had mistaken, she hadn't heard those words.

A long tired sigh blew in the phone. "Sooorrrrry miss.... 'r friend......dead."

_What?! No! _Her mind screamed. It wasn't true! "Who are you?" she growled with anger. "How....how do you know he's..." She couldn't finish it. It was too painful. Mac couldn't be dead.

"Doesn't matter.... who.... am. ...... wanted to tell...........the truth," fluttered the voice.

"What truth! Where is he? How did he...." her mind was overwhelmed by so many questions, she felt a pounding headache forming behind her eyes. _It's a nightmare, this isn't real! Oh god I wanna wake up now, please._

Rasping cough echoed as the man began to speak again then stop brutally, coughing with every breath.

"Where are you?" she questioned eagerly.

Maybe if she could find him, she would find Mac as well. He couldn't be dead. Wherever he was she would find him, and bring him back to his family, to his team, to her. She swallowed the knot forming in her throat. She would know if he was dead, she had to. He couldn't disappear without letting her know somehow. It was silly, but she was sure they had some kind of bond, and she could feel him alive somewhere. _No, Mac isn't dead, he can't be,_ her mind repeated in a lamenting prayer. She had no life without him, she had nothing.

"Don't....know," answered the voice through the loud shrieking interferences. A long deadly silence followed. "Don't... remember..." slurred the voice.

Stella closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts as she spoke, "why do you say he's dead? How do you know?"

She waited what seemed an eternity before the cold answer came and broke her heart.

"Am near...his body....and...."

"And what? How can you be so sure it's him?" She wasn't about to give hope that easily. This man could just be playing with her.

"Found...wallet......number 84...33..... guess..... dark here..."

"You're lying!" she shouted in anger, as she could picture Mac laying motionless, his blood leaking from a bullet wound, helpless, and this man watching him die slowly, enjoying his talk with her, and not doing anything, not caring for her partner. She closed her eyes as hot tears threatened to roll down. She could hear him calling her, whispering her name as he was about to pass out from blood loss, hoping she would find him.

"Did you do it? Did you hurt him?"

Controlled anger simmered behind her words as she stood up in a frozen stance waiting for the answer. She had to control herself for Mac's sake; the guy was their only lead right now. Her body went stiff at the images of her partner, hurt and waiting for her; only her arm was able to move as she knocked on the glass wall to get a lab tech attention. Alerted by the sound, a small blond girl wearing a white lab coat walked toward her with a puzzled look on her childish face and entered Stella's office.

Stella covered the speaker with her hand, not wanting to spook the man. "Get a trace on my cell phone right now!" she ordered to the girl, not caring if she had been too rash with the young woman; she would apologize to her later.

Right now, if Mac was in trouble or even worse; hurt or... god she didn't want to believe this guy. If anything had happened to Mac, then it was up to her to get help as quickly as possible, as it could mean the difference between life and death.

Without asking any further details, the blond lab tech, ran back toward Adam's lab, the sound of her heels echoing in the corridor. Stella watched her turning to a corner before she totally disappeared, her focus back to the unanswered question.

"Did you hurt him? Did you hurt the man near you?" She repeated, between her clenched teeth, as she tried to not let all her wrath slash at the man. She had to keep him talking, get a trace, and she wanted to be sure. She needed answers, she needed to know. But if he had hurt Mac, even a scratch, god protect him as she would tear him into pieces.

Then, he finally spoke, his voice fluttering like a ghost; only cut by the damned screeching interferences, "yes." Her eyes watered. "......think....I killed him."

Then the line went dead, silence only broken by lonely beeps.

The words echoed in her mind, stabbing her heart, as her knees buckled under her. Unable to support her own weight, she found herself on the ground of her office, a haggard look painted on her face as her world had been shattered into pieces in a matter of seconds. Her hand dropped numbly to her side as her phone hit the ground with a deadly thud.

_Mac's dead... _her mind rambled_, Mac... dead.....dead. _The terrible word repeated itself in a mad circle.

Hot burning tears rolled down her cheeks as she released her pain. Her blurry eyes stared aimlessly at the crimson sunset gleaming through the cold window; its bloody rays caressing her cheekbone to soothe her infinite pain. But it couldn't, how could her pain go away, as she was certain of one thing; now she was dead too.

_......TBC__........_

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**A/N: **I know, another cliffie, now it's time to let me know what you think of this chapter and help me to write faster :) R&R


	4. Hit rock bottom

**A/N:** Wow, thanks to everyone for your wonderful reviews. It's been great to read you all, and see how many put my story on alert or favorite. Can't wipe that silly grin from my face now... :D

And again a great thanks to my beta Blackdragon189, which was quite helpful with the slang, and pointed out a couple of things to get the story right.

Since I'm not home this weekend, I tried my best for this chapter to be ready today, so as you've all been waiting, here it's chapter 4 as part of the mystery unveils...Hope you enjoy it!

**Summary:** A man finds a body. When he picks up the ID in the coat, it reads "Detective first grade Mac Taylor." Is Mac really dead? What will Stella do when she'll learn the news? Angsty Smacked...

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. CSI NY and all its characters belong to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

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Bouncing on the sole of his boots, the man crunched the frozen snow beneath him as he pinched the tip of his cigarette and then tossed it with his finger. He straightened his collar, a small puffy cloud escaping his lips as he quickly stuffed his gloved hands into the pocket of his black cottoncoat. _Damn it!_ He always hated this kind of weather. Snow, ice, anything that meant cold in general shouldn't exist in his world. He grinned stupidly, thinking how the world would have turned out if he had been the one to decide to build it; lots of warm and burning sun, heat everywhere, girls, yup, lots of them; his grin widened at the mention of them. Yes, it would be great to live in this kind of world.

Then, his smile quickly faded as his gaze fell on the ice pick hanging like a predatorfrom the roof corner of the old gas station. It reminded him why he was freezing in this damn cold day; he sure wouldn't have created a world with cops._ Hell no_, he swore. And that brought him back to why he was standing, and waiting in this god damn freezing snow; a cop. _Crap_, not any cop, he reminded to himself, a very pain in-the-ass cop. Well, as for the boss asking them to take him out, it had to be.

He lumbered toward a car parked in the shadow on the other side of the street. The white snow was almost covering it entirely; if only for the windshield moving once in a while, the street looked totally asleep. Well, it was a deserted neighborhood, so nothing surprising about that. He glanced to his right, his sight going all the way to the end of the snowy street. Everywhere his eyes settled, the things were turning a deep shade of gray; the sun was almost gone, and the night would soon arrive, bringing a cold glacial death for those who would dare to remain outside. He quivered slightly; he hated snow.

As he crossed the street, he tried his best to avoid the frozen brownish-gray sludge spread over the road threatening to wet the bottom of his brown pants. He leaped clumsily when he neared the chunks of brown dirty snow that formed on the sidewalk. As he tramped down on the other side, he strode toward the frozen car. Then, he stopped before the door, glancing back at what used to be a four story building behind him. A wicked smile grazed his face as his eyes settled proudly on the missing left side of the building; a thin, white layer of snow had already started to cover the broken red bricks scattered on the ground. His brother should be proud; this time half of the building had collapsed on itself, with no fire, and only a slight rumble as the wood and floor had broken into pieces. His brother was right this neighborhood was so quiet and deserted that nobody had come after the blast, so nobody would bother to come and check for the cop in there.

He smiled before he turned back to the car and quickly opened the door. A weak remnant of heat escaped the inside of the car as he slumped heavily inside not caring about the snow still clinging to his coat. In a whoosh he shut the door bringing a gust of cold air with him, and grumbled when his gloves didn't come off fast enough. Slowly, the snow melted on his shoulders, wetting the back of the seat while he pressed his cold fingers against the heater. His companion looked at him in disgust.

"Should have left the plastic on. Or maybe next time, I'll get a partner who would be careful with my car," he shot angrily.

"Sorry Martin," he muffled, "can't ya put the heat on? I'm freezin'!"

A small, puffy cloud escaped his lips as he cuddled his hands before his mouth and blew.

The other shot him a severe look.

"Told ya before Tommy, I don't want people noticing us waitin'. Put that in your god damn brain of yours!!!"

"What people?" Tommy retorted. "There's no one here, besides us. Look at that snow fallin' again. Nobody wants to stay outside in this damn weather. Look, it's started again," he said as his eyes darted at the white puffy flakes falling in the street.

"Oh, you and your damn cold sickness!"

"Well, told ya before I didn't want to come to this place, but ya said we'd get better work and all, and look how much it did us. We're waitin' in front of a damn freakin' piece of junkyard. Building's not there anymore. The cop didn't make it. We should go."

"You're gettin' on my nerves Tommy. We go, when I say we go. We got to finish the job first, for the boss, and then he'll accept us. From there, we will be able to crawl our way up, like dad did."

"Yeah, ya say so already. But what about Carl, he doesn't care about us. Look, we're still here because he wanted to play with this cop. Might be dead as well, and we're waitin' for nothin', Martin."

"Damn it, I know, Tommy! We said we'd give him till seven, building up or not. So we do. Remember, the boss wanted him in the team, I can't get rid of him without a god damn excuse."

Tommy snarled. "Whatever."

Martin cursed, "and you ain't gonna do nothin', unless I say so, you got that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I won't make a damn move."

"Good, we just have to..." Martin's voice trailed off, as his phonewent off.

He picked it up, and shot a cold warning at his brother when he pressed to answer.

"Yeah?"

"Is it done?" questioned a low grating voice.

"Yeah boss," Martin quickly answered.

"So he's dead," the cold voice on the phone replied.

"We took care of him and with that blast, there's no way he could survive..." began Martin.

"Not what I asked you, idiot!" The voice growled in anger. "Make sure he is, and don't give me what you think. I don't pay you to know what's in your head! This guy is like a damn street cat, got seven lives or something. So go check! And if he survived, you'd better take care of business, and definitely this time!"

Martin looked outside at the collapsed building, and glanced at the man in the passenger seat. "Don't worry boss, you ain't gonna hear 'bout that CSI any time soon. The next time tv will talk about him would be to announce he's missing. They'll never find his body."

"Good," the boss replied dryly. "The trial is next week I don't want any surprise before that. Hopefully, his sneaky, rat team will get the message, and drop the case."

"Right boss, I'm sure they'll get the message, and..." he answered as he realized the line was dead. _Damn it! _He'll never get use to that kind of scolding.

He put back the phone in his coat, pondering. He cursed. So now they had to check on the cop. He knew he had taken the best option by remaining here right after the blast. He smirked. That place was so deserted that no one had even called the cops or came to see what had happened when the bomb had exploded. That ramshackle building was scheduled to be destroyed in a couple of days anyway, so nobody would make a fuss when they found out it was almost to the ground now. Although, the second story had hung on pretty well. The bomb, in fact, had only been there to cover their tracks after they killed the cop and be sure no one would come and sneak around, especially his team.

He remembered when he had arrived in the legendary city with his brother. He had made sure he would get to know the right people; the ones who would know where the best dumping places were, the good hides out where cops would never look, just in case, and the most important, the people you didn't want to cross and get on your back. So, after three years, when the name of that CSI had rung too many times to his ears, he knew he'd better not mess with him. That crime lab boss, Mac Taylor, had a reputation as a bad ass cop and white knight at the same time; too much to be taken lightly. No, he was the kind of cop that would stick to you like glue until he was done with you. That's mostly why he had managed to stay out of his way as much as possible. He sighed lightly, but his new boss hadn't seen it that way.

Yeah, his new boss. 'The' Boss, he should say. So, how could he have said no to him? He had waited years to crawl his way up high enough to be noticed by the big Boss. So when that man asked you to do something, it meant he had seen you and had plans for you, especially when he wanted you to take out one of the major players of this city.

So yeah, he had broken his sacred rules, but hell, that was all for his future and his brother too. And with this cop dead, they would be known as the ones who wiped outNew York City from its crime lab boss. No one would come bother them after that. No. Their fame had been sealed the moment they'd dropped on him.

A wicked smile grazed his face as he recalled the trap he had set for the big time detective. Well, not his best plan, though, but the cop had run for it, swallowing the bait. First, he wanted to be sure Taylor would be alone, dealing with his team at the same time would have really been too dangerous. For that, he had stalked him for weeks, getting to know his habits, likhow he always goes for a coffee at the end of the day, his partner, Bonasera, in tail. The two of them were that tight than one couldn't show up somewhere without the other around. He snarled. He had known from the start that getting her out of the way would be the difficult part.

But sometimes luck smiles at you in ways you just don't expect. And with lots of hush money, he had managed to get his eyes inside Taylor's office. The boss would have been proud of him if he had known. He smiled. He had watched, amazed at the blow his so-called partner had given him this morning. It couldn't have come at a better timing, right after he had set the trap. His smile widened. Yeah, he'd been more than lucky. His bait, little Maria, hooker in low places and known user of every kind of drugs he had come to promote, had been very compliant to help him in exchange for free samples of his latest product. Following his directions, she had called Taylor early in the morning, just before his argument with his partner, setting a meeting right here. She had played the perfect, scared middle aged woman, who had confidential intel about the case Taylor was working on. It was perfect, as since the beginning of this case, he had watched the two partners getting further from each other, although he hadn't expected it would be Bonasera that would serve him up on a silver plate.

From his previous study, Taylor wasn't the kind of guy to justify his actions or get back-up for things he had judged harmless. No, he was the kind driven by his gut, though he always argued with his colleagues about doing things with his head. He was just hiding behind the protocol to prove to everyone that he was doing things by the book. But the truth was he could go wild at any time; he had seen that kind of guy before. Yeah, he was hot headed, one just had to know how to turn him in this mode, that's all. Though it would have been trickier without the help of his partner, but since Taylor didn't agree with Bonasera on that case, he wasn't about to share that information with her, especially after the blow she had yanked at him. Hell, if a woman had talked to him like that, she would have found herself kneeling down in her own blood in the next minute; her face bruised as her swollen lips would have begged for his forgiveness. But no, that guy, Taylor, instead of acting like a man and beat the crap out of that chick, had retreated like a damn wounded puppy.

Frankly, he had laughed at the poor guy that could terrorize any skunks in the city, but couldn't stand his partner's wrath. And now, he had no feelings at all to take him out of the game. That Taylor hadn't what it takes to get him off the street, he was sure of that. He was too soft for the game. He smirked, thinking he had thought he could ever be a threat to his plans. But now that he was out, he should be able to crawl his way up. Taylor's death would bring him the fame he deserved for so long and with that, power.

So luck had brought him Taylor on a silver plate, and without any back-up, according to Maria's request; even his NYPD street cop, Flack, hadn't been there, giving the three of them all time needed to set the bomb and trap the detective. Martin glanced at his watch and back at the frozen, milky street outside the window. New York's finest detective had been dead the moment he had gotten out of his SUV; his mind miles away from this city, probably too busy thinking about what his partner had said to him than to check for his own safety. Girls, he cursed, they could drive the tougher guy to the edge of the abyss in an instant. So yes, Taylor was too soft, and killing him was the best service he could give him before the guy started to make a fool of himself and turn his bad ass reputation into a sissy. He smirked, surely the cop would have thanked him for what he did if he had still been alive.

Though, he had to admit, Taylor had still some good rests despite his mind miles away. His hands slightly cuddled his ribs at the place the cop had kicked him, fighting for his life. He could already feel the dark spot forming over his stomach. Sure, they had gotten him down after a ten minute hand to hand fight; well mostly a three to one, but he had never been for gentleman rules. They could have shot him, but he didn't want to raise suspicions if anyone stumbled upon his body. No, getting him buried under a crumbling building was a far better version of 'accident happens' than kill him and have the whole city after them. Though he couldn't swear Carl had followed his plan to the letter. _Damned Carl!_

The image of Carl's grim face when he had asked Tommy to uncuff the cop and set the timer for the bomb, was still engraved in his mind forever; a dangerous look of a wild beast about to tear your throat apart. A chill ran down his spine as he remembered Carl snatching the remote from his hands, his glassy eyes looking down at him like a big piece of meat.

"I wanna play a bit first," he had said, a twisted smile on his lips. "Alone," his deep guttural voice had whispered as his dark eyes had settled on the cuffed cop on the floor.

Unconscious, Taylor had laid motionless on the old, dusty and wooden floor, as Tommy and he had walked to the door; the floor whining in pain with each of their steps. His job had been to make sure Taylor would disappear without a trace, the how and when was up to him as long as his task was completed. So if Carl wanted to have fun with Taylor he didn't mind, but he'd better be sure the sick bastard knew not to mess with his plan.

"Remember the bomb is set to explode when you press on the trigger," Martin had repeated to Carl as he had turned around on the threshold. "So don't get too cocky, press it when you're on the other side of the street."

Tommy had shot him an angry stare. "I thought I'd be the one to do the honor, Martin. It took me sometime to get all this C4 in place and ready for the big blow. Should have been my celebration not..."

"Enough, Tommy." His loud voice had cracked in the old room they had brought the cop in. The walls were falling into streaks of rotten wood, and the windows had been condemned by some old wooden panels, preventing any curious looks to observe them when they had dropped on Taylor and beat the crap out of him until he had finally given up and remained unmoving.

Tommy had sighed. "Another time." Martin had promised to his brother. "Next time you'll press on the trigger."

Tommy had muffled a curse before he had tramped down to the broken stairs, the old wooden steps had then creaked under his heavy footsteps, echoing like a lonely whimper inside the bedraggled tenement. Then, Martin had given the cop a last glance, small remorse creeping up his mind as he had seen Carl pulling out a knife. Worry and disgust had lingered in his eyes at what Carl was about to do. Martin knew that his own life hadn't been a good example, and he would never be a good guy, hell he wasn't going to change, but the view of Carl and knowing the skunk's reputation had made him sick.

If Carl hadn't been expressly chosen by the Boss to accompany them, he would have never allowed him to team up with them. Carl was the kind that enjoyed killing, and having fun was just another word for torture. He remembered thinking that maybe it had been what the Boss had in mind, getting his revenge onTaylor the hard way.

"Wait for me," had ordered Carl as if he was in charge. Then, his glacial black eyes had set upon Martin. "And make sure your dumb ass brother doesn't come to mess with me, or he might just be my next toy."

A long, scary chill had ran through Martin's back as his hazel eyes had connected with Carl's. That guy was sick. He had let out a small sigh, his hands clenching into fists as, after all, it was his mission, not Carl's. Who the hell had he thought he was to talk to him like that and threaten his brother? But slowly, his anger had subsided as he had remembered that Carl wouldn't bother him very long as soon as this job was done. His sight had wandered backto the cop. A red smear of blood had been starting to drip from the open gash over his left eye, a small, crimson puddle of fresh liquid quickly absorbed by the dry wooden floor under his head. At the time, he recalled how glad he had been not to be in Taylor's skin. Even now, he didn't want to know what Carl had done to the cop. Taylor dead was all that mattered to him.

Cuffed, and far from waking up with the blow Tommy had inflicted on him, Martin was almost sure there had been no way Taylor would have made it out of the building before the blast. No, not even Carl, none of them had been seen since the explosion. But the Boss was right, he couldn't leave right now without knowing.

'_You're never __so __sure until you've seen it with your bare eyes__',_ his dad's voice rang in his head. He sighed angrily,_ I guess you were right dad._

"So what did he say?" asked Tommy, pulling Martin from his thoughts.

"Uh... He said to make sure the cop's dead. So we have to go and check."

"What? I don't want to go back out in this damn cold. That cop is dead! I know that."

"Well, how do ya know he's really dead? Carl isn't back, and maybe the cop got outta there. The boss is right, we should be sure."

An angry grumble rose from Tommy's voice.

"What?" shot Martin, tired of his brother's perpetual rattling.

"Nothing," replied weakly Tommy, weakly, looking down at his hands. "...I mean...C'mon Martin, Carl had that cop in hand." He looked at his watch. "Like you said, he told us he'd be there at seven".

"And what if he needs help right now?" replied Martin, truly exasperated by his brother's behavior.

"The hell! You know he would watch you die just for fun. I say if he's in trouble it's his problem. Our job was to kill Taylor and hide his body, not to play with him like Carl did. If he got caught in the blast then it's his problem," he grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. "And even if the cop got the better hand of Carl, he had to be caught in the explosion, you know that. We'd have seen anyone gettin' outta there, right? So I'm not goin'!"

His brother had a point. From where they were, they would have seen if anyone had got out of the building before it collapsed. Martin sighed, poundering about his next move. The Boss was right too. How could he be so sure Taylor was dead? He shook his head.

"If Carl hasn't shown up in ten, we're goin'!"

His brother shot him a stern look, obviously not happy about the perspective of going back into the half collapsed building. But he knew when Martin had taken a decision, it was over; nothing would change his mind. So he mumbled an angry curse between his teeth as he looked at the flimsy ruin on the other side of the road. The snow was now falling in thick, white bundles, his old tracks already under two inches of white powder. He quivered lightly. This was going to be a real, cold night.

_**xxx**_

_Breath...breath..._repeated her mind. And so she did. Slowly, she felt the life coming back into her veins, hot, electric energy creeping back into the tips of her cold fingers. She would find him, even if he was... She closed her eyes and swallowed the feel of dread as the world spun around her. She would find him, she repeated to herself, trying to draw strength from this short statement; her lungs started to expand, and she greedily breathed as air filled them.

She had to be strong for him, she repeated, she couldn't lie in her office like some kind of wreck. One last time, she told to herself, she had to be there for him, even if it was the last time. Burning tears stung her eyes as she quickly brushed them away; she had no time for that. No, right now, every second could matter, every second could mean death or salvation, and she wasn't going to give up on him. She owed him that. She swallowed the painful knot tightened in her throat.

Bringing her knees together, she grabbed the corner of her desk with a shaking hand, and slowly rose onto her legs. As a wave of nausea assaulted her, her eyes focused on the one point which wasn't moving in her room; a black nail pinned on the salmon wall of her office. The nausea slowly subsided as the room became still, her gaze still glued to the small black dot. She used to have a painting there, a Greek painting given by Professor P, a father to her for so many years. The painting had remained there until she found out what a thief he was, and had returned the painting where it belonged, Greece. At that moment, she had realized all her childhood had been a lie.

Being a foster child she had always thought she had already lost everything in the world and no one would ever be able to take more from her; but she was wrong, as Professor P had stolen the one thing she thought to be true; her identity, and the truth about her past and her mother. The shock had been so violent, she had felt so lost, that she had wondered how she would have ended up if Mac hadn't been there.

Even though she had pushed him away, messed with the lab's rules, and hurt him with her lies, he had come for her. She nodded silently, yes he had come for her. As she clung at that nice memory, she felt her body regaining more energy, a weak smile grazing her lips; as always, he was her rock, even when he wasn't there, she could still feel his presence, a sweet angel watching over her shoulder, protecting her.

She would be strong for him. She would be there for him, and for that she had to find that guy. Crouching, she grabbed her cell phone and stood up, taking a deep breath. Unconsciously, she leaned against the corner of her desk, her legs still shaking, and pressed on the speed dial. She would find him no matter what.

_**xxx**_

He let out a weak sigh, staring at the glowing, blue screen in his hands; his pale, bluish face reflected the draining pain shooting through his side and chest. His lips tightened, muffling the silent pain, as his eyes closed for a second before he swallowed the guilt from hurting that girl, and cursed his clumsiness. He didn't know why, but even through the interferences, he could have heard the hurt and pain smoldering beneath her words, and frankly he didn't like that. That's why he had hung up; he didn't want to hurt her more. God, he wished he could remember, make that damn guilt goes away. It had to. When you killed a cop like he had, it had to be in a cold-blooded heart. If that's what he was, then, he'd better get back to his old selfish, self before the cops show up, and he hanged himself.

A couple of seconds before taking the call, he had pondered the idea of answering it. If he was really guilty of the cop's death, then he would have nothing to expect from any of his friends. As he had turned the idea over and over in his head, the phone had kept ringing and ringing, insisting to be answered. So, finally, he had agreed that he was so screwed that maybe, he should take the chance, and maybe, maybe ask for help.

His eyes stared sadly at the screen as the light vanished and was replaced by an oppressing, cold darkness. He shivered, his arms nestled against his chest to keep some warmth; he had been so wrong. He didn't even get the chance to ask for help. Now, things were at its worst. The cops would come for him, hunt him down like an animal. But giving that woman's anger boiling beneath her words, he didn't bet on his chance to survive very long; she would shoot him at first glance.

Or they would let him die in this cold, like an animal, his mind threatened. His back resting on nothing; he slightly trembled as the adrenaline was wearing off. He could feel, now, his wet, cold undershirt, sticking to his skin, sending more chills into his tired muscles. He cursed, looking up. The faint rays of light were gone; the sun was probably too low now. Night was coming, and with that, this place would turn into a giant freezer, though it was already too damn cold, he realized, sliding his cold hands under his arms. More tremors ran through his body; the wet sludge soaking his pants and undershirt was beginning to numb his limbs as well. If he wasn't moving soon, he would lose the small amount of heat his body had kept, and with that his chance to survive. Bringing his legs under him, he took support with one hand, his right arm firmly cuddled against his wound. He had to get the hell out of here.

Almost standing on shaking legs, the phone rang. He shot, to the small object, a puzzled look when he saw the name; Stella. That girl was calling him back? _What does she want?_ Or maybe she wanted to know where he was, and had guys to track his call, then she would probably try to keep him talking. Yeah right, he wasn't going to answer, no way.

He started to stumble through the darkness. He had to find some kind of shelter or place that would be warmer than where he had found the cop's body. He winced as the phone kept ringing again and again, buzzing angrily in his hand. _Crap!_ That woman wasn't going to drop the case that easily. He wondered if he should take the call. He didn't want to go to jail, he was sure of that. Something deep inside of him was scared like a two year old. He wouldn't go back in jail. Painful images assaulted his mind. He swallowed hardly, no, he wouldn't go back there. But he had to take the call, that too was weird, like an old habit of some kind, a silent urge to answer. He sighed, resigned, as he pressed on the answer button.

"What do you want?" he asked a bit harsher than what he wanted. It wasn't time for small talks anyway. Seeing his condition, he'd bet he wouldn't be able to make it to the morning without some kind of divine intervention. So it was better to cut the crap right now and be done with it.

"Where....r.. you?" asked Stella, on the same stern tone, through the interferences.

A small sigh escaped his lips. This woman was really annoying, he had already told her. He pouted, he should have guessed that she was too busy grieving her friend to hear him. _Shit!_

"I don't know," he dropped.

"You're......lying."

He smirked. Jesus, she was really stubborn. "I am not, I don't remember."

"If you killed him......I..... swear ....'ll kill you..... myself," she threatened on the phone, her harsh words cut by the interferences.

_Now she'__s talking,_ he thought, as he closed his eyes, and smirked. "Sorry lady, but you're too late on that one," he retorted, staring bitterly at the wound soaking his shirt.

She remained silent for a moment, before he heard her, another question on her lips. "What do.... you.... mean?" she asked, worries evident behind her words.

"Well, someone's already taken care of that job."

"You..... wounded?" She asked. He could hear the obvious happiness in her voice, as fate was taking a piece of the cop's murderer. "Where..... are you? ......your name?" she tried again as the damn interferences were still bursting through the phone.

He sighed, recognizing the trap; she was trying to keep him on the line, her cops' friend probably tracing the call already. He looked up at the darkness. From what he had seen when he had a better light; he huffed at the use of the word, right, better light, he had to be in the basement of an old building. Then, there were so many iron bars and poles made in metal, and tossed everywhere, and so probably in the story over him that he doubted they got a quick trace on him._ Nope, that explains the interferences_. But whatever plan they had come up with, he wasn't going to help them locking him up for life; never.

"Told you, I don't know," he replied in a harsh tone. "And my name doesn't matter anyway. I'm not that dumb, lady. Don't want to go back in jail anyway."

"You .....went.... to jail," she questioned.

"Long time ago. Look I know what you're trying to do. You're not gonna find me like that."

On these words he hung up, he didn't want to argue with her. Somehow it made him sick just to think about it. And for the jail, no way he was going back into a cell, even though he didn't remember much of his identity, his mind was still bringing him terrifying images of the guards that held him; it was enough to keep him from going back at any price. _Better die here than go back there,_ he thought, as he turned off the cell phone. _That way she won't bother me anymore._

He crouched with a wince as the dull pain in his side reminded him he was probably right. He would never make it to jail, even if the cops could find out where he was. His life was going to end here, and no one would ever regret him at all.

_TBC............._

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**A/N: **alright, here it's the good time to let me know what you thought of this chapter, and review... and thanks for reading.


	5. The worst scenario

**A/N: **First, thanks to everyone who put me on their alert list and to all of you, for your wonderful reviews. I love hearing from you and having your feedbacks about this story. It really helps me to try my best to make it right.

Huge thanks to my beta Blackdragon189, which is editing this story and a new one I prepared for Christmas. She has a lot on her shoulders, I can tell. So thanks Liz!

And here it's chapter 5 a bit earlier than expected (since, again, I'm not home this weekend) and heading into more action...

**Summary :** A man finds a body. When he picks up the ID in the coat, it reads "Detective first grade Mac Taylor". Is Mac really dead? What will Stella do when she'll learn the news? Angsty Smacked...

**Disclaimer :** I don't own anything. CSI NY and its characters belong to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

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"What the..." she cursed. _He hung up on me_. She couldn't believe it. That jackass had hung up on her. _Damn it_, finding him was going to be more difficult than what she thought. Hopefully, Adam would have a hit on Mac's cell before the end of their conversation, either with the first or second one.

Firmly decided to find out where Mac was, she jogged out of her office, her high heels clacking in the hallway as she headed toward Adam's lab. If the blond lab tech, Jean, had done her job, then she might have a chance to find where that damn murderer was. A cold hand tightened around her heart as she thought about what could be happening to Mac right now. Was he really alright or dead like that damn bastard had said? The pounding in her head grew louder as she neared Adam's lab, her expectations to find him fast and safe very high.

But as soon as she entered the room, she knew it wasn't good; Adam was just too easy to read. Youngest in the team, always wearing a casual shirt with a pair of jeans, ready to help and giving his best, he was unable to keep his emotions inside although he was one of the best lab techs she had ever met. So when she saw his gaze locked to the screen, avoiding her, she knew they hadn't caught him. _Yet_, she added for herself, because she didn't care if she had to overturn every rock in this city; she would find her partner, she would find Mac.

"Adam?" she asked, her heart beating fast in her chest as she feared his answer.

"I..." he rambled, before his lips shut and his blue gaze met hers. "Sorry....I couldn't get a trace. I guess next time, we'll be ready."

"We might not have a next time," she stated with anger, more to herself for not being able to keep that guy talking long enough, than the poor Adam.

But Adam took it personally and clamed up right away, staring at the screen. And then, his wild brain took over a few seconds later as he started into what he thought was a very good explanation about why he had failed.

"Well, I've done the best, considering you didn't give me much information, Stella. But what's weird it's all the interferences I've picked up along the way. It's like the signal was scrambled from the origin." He looked at her, a boyish grin carving his lips, thinking it was the right time to reorient the blow. "Was that CIA calling you?" he joked, but quickly dropped his smile when Stella's face turned into a worried one.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude into..." he began, tumbling on the words as he tensed and looked back at the screen.

"It's not that Adam," she quickly cut, seeing agitation beginning to boil beneath his blue eyes. "It was Mac's cell," she dropped sternly. A deadly silence followed her words.

"Mac's? How did he..." he couldn't finish as she cut him off again.

"Mac's in trouble Adam. The man I had on his cell phone claimed he killed him, and that his b..." her voice trailed off, she couldn't say those words. No. She would not use those words to talk about him. Mac was alive she knew it, and she was going to find him. She took a deep breath locking her eyes with Adam's. "We have to find him Adam. So you drop everything you're working on and you come up with something on that call. A place, voice identification, I don't know, anything that can lead us to Mac."

"I'm on it. Don't worry, we'll find him!" he exclaimed with a serious tone, his fingers already dancing on the keyboard.

She gave him a weak smile, greeting his support. _We have to. _She let her eyes close a second._ Wherever you are Mac, please hang on, we're coming..._

_**xxx**_

"It's way past seven Tommy, let's go," Martin said as he shot a severe look at his older brother.

Tommy growled as he rubbed his hands together. "I hate snow!" He huffed again. He could already feel the sting of the cold biting into his fingers.

"I know, C'mon. As soon as we're done with this, then we can go back home."

"Gee, ya say that as if it sounds so simple," he grumbled. "It's gonna take hours to find a piece of this cop after the blast. And ya expect me to be happy about that? I never worked in a meat packin' industry and never will... too cold anyway."

Martin exited the car without a word. He knew better than to fuel his brother's hatred toward cold. Since their childhood, Tommy had always preferred staying inside when the weather was turning a bit frisky. The other kids had always teased him about that weird brother who would refuse to play in the snow like them. But Martin suspected Tommy's odd behavior had begun right after the expedition with their dad when he was ten. At the time, it had been the worst snow storm known in New Jersey's history.

Although Tommy or their dad had never talked about what happened back there, Martin could still remember the streak of fear carved on his brother's face after he had pushed the entrance door; the day they had come back. His eyes had lost the love and care he was used to shoot at him, making him feel special, as if they had a special bond. But after that weekend, Tommy had never been the same anymore; no more loving and caring older brother looking out for his younger brother. No. Just a tense, cold big brother grumbling curses against the cold weather. To add to that odd behavior, he had started to have sudden outbursts, exploding in rage every time he lost his temper and blew angry, harsh words to whoever was around at the time. And it sure wasn't good to be there then, as Tommy could easily break a leg or a table without blinking or noticing the difference.

Until now, Martin had always wondered what had made his brother change. He glanced at Tommy as he finally opened the car's door and stepped on the crunchy snow with another growl.

"I hate this damn snow." Martin could hear him cursing.

Ignoring his brother, he switched on his flashlight and lighted his way toward the building. His steps echoed in the silent, early night as his boots crunched the thin layer of ice covering the snow. As always in the winter, days were shorter, but in New York, they didn't even last that much due to the towers' shadows. He hurried the pace, scrambling the frosty snow with repeated crunches. Tommy glared at him as he came close and his right foot sank into ten inches of crispy, white powder. The light, puffy flakes stuck to the bottom of his paints as he pulled his foot out of the snow with small curses.

"C'mon Tommy," scolded Martin, as he stepped before the frail building that remained frozen in the silent darkness. "Ain't the time to play."

His brother answered him with a dark stare, fuming, before he trudged under the small arch that used to be the hallway. Only the right side of the building was still standing. The other side had totally crumbled on itself like a sand castle, forming small heaps of iron bars, broken, wooden panels merged with fragments of, what had been red bricks.

_Junkyard_, thought Martin, how the hell would they be able to find anything in this mess? He glanced at Tommy, his face hidden by the shadows, was now standing where there used to be the staircases; but now only a messy stack of wooden pieces were scattered on the ground, the white snow slowly covering every trace of the blast.

"Let's try to find traces of blood, or a body." He threw to his brother. "I guess Carl must be in that junk too." _Damn idiot! Should've listened to me._

The best thing was to get moving and be done with that. Even he didn't like the perspective of looking for body parts. But they had to do what had to be done. He sighed, otherwise the boss would have their asses too.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and find him right away," Martin added, trying to convince Tommy to be a lot more motivated.

"Yeah right, that old, ricketyramshackle crumbled on its bases. How do ya figure we gonna see anythin' with this damn darkness and this cold wind blowin' into our necks? It's not even a full moon. I can't see a damn thing with this flashlight." His arms dropped hopelessly to his side.

"Just do it, Tommy," Martin spat with anger. "Because if you don't, and that damn cop is still alive, we ain't gonna make it to the end of this week. Stick that in your thick head!"

Still growling, Tommy turned his back to his brother and began to rummage with the tip of his boots through a pile of burned, wooden bars before him.

Martin shrugged. He didn't care what his older brother thought, they had a job to finish, no matter what the time it would take them. The Boss wasn't a guy to take too lightly. Messing with him could be signing their death certificate. He smirked; Taylor was just the good example for that.

"Just look for the damn body, alright."

"Don' need to be pissed off," sneered Tommy as he crouched and lifted pieces of shattered wood; their ugly search starting.

_**xxx**_

His shallow, rasping breath echoed in the darkness as he tried to think. It was hard to concentrate. The cold, that damn, sneaky cold was eating at his body. He brought a leg close to his chest and winced when his knee popped with a cracking sound, the joint not visibly happy to be forced to move with this low temperature.

_Damn it!_ Inside him, he was pissed to be so helpless. He glared angrily at the dark void over him. Darkness was everywhere around him, and he couldn't see a damn thing. Taking a slow breath, the cold freezing air grazed at his sore throat and drew him a violent, burning cough. His chest heaved in pain as the cough lasted for what seemed an eternity before it finally stopped; leaving his body trembling and weak. Beads of sweat slid the long of his neck as he tried to find his breath, careful not to awake his scorched throat. Quivering, his arms desperately tightened around his chest to stop the tremors, though it didn't really work. He was losing heat fast.

The thin fabric of his undershirt was useless against this freezing cold as ice was starting to form around his wrist and at the top of his shoulders. The glacial temperature had crawled under the layer of the damp cloth, sinking to his skin, biting into his flesh with sharp teeth, stabbing his bones with millions of frozen, tiny shards. The hard pounding of his heart hammered beneath his temples. Soon, he would be dead if he didn't find a quick solution.

He had thought about taking the cop's coat and jacket, but after he had tried to pull it off, he had realized the clothes were also damp from the cop's blood and the murky sludge; both were useless then. So he had sat back to where he was now, his back against the cold side of what used to be a bathtub turned upside down. At least the freezing wind couldn't blow on his back anymore. That small victory against the weather was enough to give him a bit of hope.

With shaking hands, he decided to give it a last try and turned on the cell phone. He looked at the small battery pulsing on the screen and blinked at the light, too bright for his eyes used to the obscurity. The battery would be dead soon, mostly because of the cold, again. Cold weather and batteries had never been a good match. He swallowed the gloomy thoughts threatening to smash his will and sighed before he pressed on the only three digits he could remember.

"911, what's the nature of your emergency," stated a friendly young female voice.

He closed his tired eyes; he could picture a young girl in her twenties sitting behind a small desk and glaring at the screen before her. She was probably sitting in a warm room with twenty more other people like her, all in rows, a steaming cup of black coffee set near their keyboard. She would have a thin headset entwined in her long, curly hairs. He sipped at the warm vision.

"If you can't speak..." the girl began.

"I'm..." he croaked, his voice even more difficult to understand. "I need help," he finished painfully, trying to separate each syllables. His throat was still stinging and burning, his lips were numb and each syllable was taking a hell of energy to pronounce.

"Where are you sir?"

"Ah..." his breath let out tiredly, "...am...some kind of basement..." He took a short breath, trying to slow his heartbeat. He opened his eyes. He had to stay awake, he told himself, as he tiredly shaved the sleep weighing on his eyelids. "-building.... I think... collapsed building..."

"I'm sorry sir, you're breaking up! Where did you say you are again?"

"In...a basement," he stammered, his eyes fluttering to stay open. "...building collapsed...don't know where..."

"Are you hurt?" anxiously questioned the young girl, realizing the precarious situation her interlocutor was in.

"Head hurts...uh..." he took another long breath. The hammer in his head was giving him a hard time to gather his thoughts, and stay focused. "...hole in the side...bleeding...can't stop it..."

"Okay, I can send help right away, but I need to know where you are? Can you tell me your name, sir? Something that could help localize you?"

A long sigh escaped his lips before his trembling voice spoke again, one hand rubbed tiredly at his face to shave the sleep threatening him. "...Don't know..." he dropped tiredly.

"Sir I need to know more. I can't send an ambulance if..."

"Shouldn't... have called," he cut, his voice almost a whisper. "Sorry..." He ended the call. _It was useless._

He watched as the faint glow disappeared from the cell phone's screen, darkness wrapping its glooming wings around him, tightening its strong hold around his frail body. He was born in this obscurity, and somehow that black suffocating cloud intended to keep him here forever, sealing his soul forever in this tomb.

He swallowed as his eyes closed wearily, the hard beating still hammering inside his head. The back of his head leaned against the cold metal behind him as he tried to rest.

He smirked at the irony. He, alive but with no memory of who he was, was sitting beside the dead body of a cop, who had obviously earned respect and affection from this woman, Stella, and probably many more. He sighed, he felt cold inside, and not just because of the dropping temperature. No. He felt so alone and stranded, that for a moment he wondered if he shouldn't just let go. His memory was a wreck, with obvious images of terrible pain he had endured or seen people live through, and clearly he would never get any love or warmth the same way that cop had.

A deep jealousy crept into his mind as he envied the cop's life. With only a few words exchanged with that woman, he knew he'd never get to live that. He swallowed the hard truth as the word coward exploded in his mind, wrenching his heart and tearing open more painful images from his chaotic mind. The ferocious voice of a man vomited a flow of rage as he shouted that he was just a damn coward that had watched his friend die. Burning tears stung his eyes, as his body was run by unstoppable tremors. Who the hell was he?

Far from him, faint sobs echoed in the darkness. Deep inside, he felt sorry for the poor bastard that was weeping his whole being out. But it was then that he realized, he was that poor bastard. He was the one crying all his soul away. But he didn't care, nothing had importance anymore. He had no memory and no life to hang on to; nothing dear to come back to. He was just the shadow of a poor, dying, selfish bastard. No one would ever miss him. His body slightly shook as the dreary thought sank into his mind.

Like he said before, you couldn't kill someone and get away with it. Fate had to make you pay.

_**xxx**_

Her sight wandered behind the window, gazing at the shy stars doing their best to be as bright as they could despite the flooding and overwhelming light coming from the sleepless city. A few minutes ago, the snow had stopped, replaced by a small black hole between the heavy clouds where the stars were hiding. According to the weather channel, it was a small interlude before the real snow storm started. She bit her lower lip, that same channel had announced a drop in temperature for the night; below zero. She shivered instinctively. Since the announcement, a long line hadn't stopped creasing her forehead as minutes had passed by, adding to her already tense and worried face. She prayed she was right about Mac.

Frankly, she didn't know what she would do if he was... Silence followed her thoughts, as she recalled his tense face when he had left this morning. All the tension and despair his eyes had conveyed had broken her heart, and now it was hard for her to put it back together without him; without having the possibility to say I'm sorry. She would never be able to go on without him in her life, and with the temperature dropping, she was afraid that the damn storm would take him away and at the same time, her life too. If it happened, it would be the death of the faint gleaming hope of a future she had craved for; afuture she had never spoken of, a future where, maybe, they could be together. But instead, she had buried her feelings under the thick layer of fear; fear of losing him if he rejected her. She closed her eyes. _Please God, make him be okay._

Her back to Adam, who was hastily typing commands on his keyboard, she raked her brain once more, trying to find a clue that could help find Mac. She had reached almost all the team, and they were all doing their best to make it back quickly. With another lab tech, she had analyzed every call Mac had received or made from his cell phone this week, and besides professional calls from the chief or his team, she had found nothing. It was the same with his line in his office. Nothing particular had drawn her attention, except maybe a few calls from public phones, but those were all in New York, and she had no way to know if it was one of them that had drawn her partner outside.

Almost an hour had come and gone without any more news; and it seemed she was dying a little more as the seconds faded into the night in the rhythm of Adam's typing. Every once in a while, she could hear him muffling a curse, probably because she was there, otherwise she was sure he would have yelled at his screen. A weak smile grazed her lips. That was Adam; very spontaneous.

Tiredly, she opened her eyes and saw her pale reflection in the glass. The sight before her brought her back to the sad reality that her partner was still missing, probably hurt somewhere, and that she still had no clue of where to look. And to add to that, she had pushed him away the very day he would have needed her the most. Her harsh words echoed in her mind, ringing like a death sentence. _Had the courage....watch friend die...use my heart.....should try it once in a while. _Wherever he was, and whatever state of mind he was in, he was probably cursing her name for what she had said to him. She pinched the top of her nose, knowing him, he was probably thinking she was right. That thought made her sick. She had spoken those harsh words out of anger, she knew none of them was true, but Mac Taylor had a thing to keep things buried so deep inside that he would have taken anything she would have said like a statement of his own failure. _Oh god_, if only she could take those words back, and find him safe and sound. Unfortunately, she couldn't. Though, she deeply hoped that for the latter, she would be able to make it on time and help him.

Deep in her thoughts, she didn't hear the light footsteps entering the lab, and walking toward her, his brown suit lightly floating with each step. The man stopped right behind her, a big smile spread on his face as he spoke.

"Hey sleeping beauty," joked Flack as he gazed at her reflection, her dark blue V-neck T clad to her thin frame.

A wide grin spread on his face as he saw her being startled and the effect he had on her. But a few seconds later, when she turned a worried glance at him, her hand pressed on her opposite shoulder near her neck as she was deeply in pain, his expression turned to a serious one.

"Hey, you look like you could use a cup of coffee right now," he noted, trying to seem cheerful.

She locked her eyes with the blue, crystal pool of the young detective and remembered she hadn't been able to contact him to tell him about Mac. He didn't know. A dark shadow lingered in her emerald eyes as a longer crease deepened into her forehead.

"No Don, right now I need Mac," She dropped with a sigh, her arms wrapped against her chest as if this simple action could bring back her partner.

"Ah right, everything for the boss," Flack playfully answered back.

She let out her breath like she was breathing for the last time before leaning against the counter of an analysis table.

"Hey, what's going on Stell?" he asked, as he was getting worried, too. Stella was a tough woman, and to bring such distress in her eyes it had to be something pretty big.

"It's Mac, Don. He's MIA." She looked down, unable to hide the pain and not wanting Flack to witness it. "I tried to contact you, but your phone didn't answer and..." her voice trailed off as if it was too much effort to go on.

"What do you mean he's missing? How do you know?" Flack could feel anxiety creeping along his back and neck. If Mac was missing it wasn't something bad, it was hell breaking loose in the crime lab, and that simple thought just shouted big time problem in his head. "Since when? I mean, I saw him this morning when he came to the precinct, and he was fine."

"What time was that?" she questioned eagerly, hoping it would give her a clue to retrace his fateful road.

Flack seemed to think about it before his blue eyes looked at her with more intensity. "Around 10, I'd say."

Stella let out a heavy sigh, _10, _she repeated in her mind. It meant Mac could have been in trouble since then, and she hadn't done a damn thing about it, only wondering about his fate seven hours later. She cursed her selfishness. What kind of partner was she? First snapping at him and now that?_ I just want __him to be alright, is it too much to ask?_

"Stella," repeated Flack, as she had clearly shelled back into her thoughts.

"Uh, yes?"

"What happened?"

She swallowed the knot in her throat before answering and leaving their argument aside.

"I tried to call him several times for a case, and when I finally reached him someone else answered his phone." She locked her eyes with Flack's. "Don, Mac would never give his phone willingly, you know that. It's his line for work, all his life turns around it."

"Yeah, I know," sighed the detective as it became now clear where Stella was going. He nodded quietly encouraging her to resume.

As he took in the pain in the depth of her emerald eyes, he swore he had never seen so much misery and helplessness mixed at the same time in her eyes, not even when she had been hurt by Frankie; her private life thrown to hell. So when she spoke again, his body had instinctively tensed waiting for the dreadful news. But he had never anticipated that the words that would come out of her mouth would be those, and not with Mac in the same sentence. Never.

"The man I spoke to said..." she took a long breath, one hand rubbing aimlessly her forehead, and hiding her sight."...He said Mac was dead...and that he killed him."

She almost choked on the last words as her eyes closed slightly, trying to push away the reality that she didn't want to believe in. She refused to believe it. Mac was going to be okay. He had to be. She couldn't think otherwise. She knew that if their role were reversed, he would be doing anything to find her, but most of all, he would never abandon hope. Not Mac Taylor.

Flack remained still before her, trying to comprehend what she had said. It was Stella; she couldn't have said those words. God damn, it was Mac, they were talking about. The man had a skin made of steel and more than several lives, nothing could happen to him; it was Mac.

"How Stella?... How are you sure?" he asked with a small voice.

She looked away. "I don't want to be sure Don. I just want to find him." She took another deep breath, gathering her thoughts as her shoulders sagged, and then she turned into CSI mode. "Adam is trying to find a way to trace his cell; for the moment, I...I have no other leads." She stated sadly. "I checked his mail, his phone calls; I tried to retrace his road, but so far I've come up with nothing." Her arms lolled to her sides.

"Did you try his GPS?" he pushed lightly.

She smirked, remembering it had been the first thing she had checked. "So far, we haven't gotten a trace. It's either not working or someone turned it off." And that thought was even more unnerving. It meant that Mac could have been ambushed. And right now, she didn't like the sound of that. An ambush was always planned; it meant someone had tracked down Mac, which dropped the possibility of finding him to a very small number.

"What about old scum bags getting their payback?"

She shook her head, raising a brow toward him. "Well, that I have. Do you have any idea how many people have sworn they would get their revenge on Mac, since he's been with the NYPD?"

He nodded, understanding her trouble now. As a cop you always ended up pissing off a lot of people, and not all of them were in jail.

"Right too many," he replied sternly.

She let out a heavy sigh. "That's an understatement. I found 52 cases so far," she dropped, hopeless. "And that's only the ones who are out of jail, and still leaving in the city; I'm not even mentioning the ones who might have connections with the outside, about to be released, or who would like to see him vanish from their political life."

A quiet understanding filled both their eyes as Flack remembered their last confrontation with Dunbrook. That one wasn't to take too lightly. The guy had enough connections to steal the flash drive from the evidence room, so make a cop disappear might not be too far from his everyday what-to-do-list.

"I see. How can I help?"

"When you saw him, did he tell you anything about where he was going and for what?"

Flack looked away. "Well, he didn't seem in a very talkative mood, so I didn't press much."

He sighed; visibly ashamed he hadn't tried to know more from his friend. If Mac was in trouble, a single bit of information could make a difference, unfortunately, he hadn't pushed. Mac had helped him so many times, covering his back, but when his friend had seemed in pain he had just let go. _Damn him!_ What kind of friends was he? He looked into the gleaming green of Stella's eyes. She was obviously in pain too, probably cursing herself for not being there for him as well. His hands turned into fists, his knuckles whitening. _Shit!_ He should be able to remember something, anything that could give them a lead. _C'mon, Don wrack your brain!_

"I think he said something about meeting a source of some kind," he finally uttered, not really sure. His blue eyes searched an invisible link on the ceiling before he set them on Adam, who was still busy on his computer. "I asked him if he wanted me to come along, but he said he would be fine. I didn't push too much, you know, he had that dark creepy look when he wants to handle things on his own. Well, I thought he'd prefer to be alone. So,..." his voice trailed off, regretting he hadn't tried to learn more. "Sorry, Stell, that's all I have."

"It's okay Don. It's typical Mac," she cursed as she headed to Mac's office, a new idea in mind, Flack on her heels.

Maybe he had left a clue there, a place or even a name written somewhere. She shook her head, scolding her stupidity as she entered his office. Why hadn't she thought of that before, damn it? Okay, she was worried about him and angry at herself for the words she had spoken earlier, but was she so thick headed that at the first emotional distress, she couldn't handle things without him around? She had to be tougher than that if she wanted to find him. _C'mon Stella, wake up damn it! Mac's life is in the balance!_ She scolded herself.

A few minutes later, she sighed, her brows furrowing. His desk was covered with lots of files, but she hadn't found a thing, not even a small paper wrinkled in the bin. She stared silently at the picture of the team and him on the corner of his desk. There should be something she could do.

"The team knows," Flack spoke, his voice breaking the deafening silence of Mac's office.

For the last ten minutes, he had quietly watched her and was amazed how a worried and pissed off Stella could turn upside down the neatly office in a matter of minutes. The word tornado had come to his mind as she had checked everywhere; under each file, inside his drawers, under the keyboard, even under his desk just in case. But at the end, they were back to square one with no more clues about where he was.

"Yeah, Lindsay and Hawkes are doing their best to wrap up the crime scene they're on, and Danny was off for the rest of the day, but he should be back in a few. He had to drop Lucy off to her nanny."

"He'll be alright Stell."

Stella locked her tired eyes with Flack's, hoping with all her heart that he was right.

"You know him," continued Flack, "the man has seven lives. I'm sure he'll find a way to be okay."

She let out a deep, exhausted breath as she slumped back into Mac's chair. The faint scent of his cologne wrapped around her and for a second she let herself drown into his lingering presence. Her harsh words came back to her mind as a cold fear crawled back into her mind. Mac had to be okay. He couldn't be gone just after what she had told him. It was too painful to imagine him never knowing what was really on her mind. She swallowed the sadness and anger that choked her throat. Only her eyes were able to speak. She didn't want to push destiny or get an angry god or whatever after Mac; she just wanted him back.

She wanted to tell him how sorry she was, to see his soft gaze smiling confidently to her and make sure he was okay. She wanted to tell him how much she cared about him like she should have in Greece, that he meant so much to her that when he wasn't alright she couldn't be too. They were linked to each other, and she needed him more than what she would have ever admitted. A tired sigh escaped her lips. She needed to feel his reassuring presence, and perhaps, this time, she would find the strength to tell him what was inside her heart. Yes. She stared sadly at the frozen and dark night outside. Maybe this time, she would be brave enough to tell him that she loved him, and would never let him go. Never again.

She felt the warmth of a firm hand slightly pressed on her shoulder. She drew strength from this small gesture reminding her of her partner; Mac always did that when she was in pain. Though, this time when she looked up, she found Flack staring anxiously at her.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked nervously.

She took a deep breath, "I will be Don. As soon as we find him, I will be. If only I "

She was cut off by a frenzy Adam rushing inside Mac's office. His breath short, he stared at Stella with a nervous sight.

"Got a hit!" he almost yelled through short rasps. He bent down, hands pressed on his knees as he took a deep breath and raised a hand meaning he needed a second.

Her heartbeat raised at the hope they'd found him. In a second she was beside Adam, near the couch, hanging anxiously to his lips, waiting, hoping Adam had finally found what she craved for hours; a lead to Mac.

"Adam..." she began not able to contain her anxiety any longer.

"I found his cell Stella." He cut her off as he stood up, his breath returning to normal. "He's in Long Island, a few blocks from Triborough Bridge."

Stepping toward a feverish Stella he handed her a small screen. Her mouth was half open, not believing it. _Finally, they had a location. _

"I think there's something you might want to hear, first."Adam threw as she was almost at the doorway.

"What?" her eyes locked with his, pressing him to continue, she had no time to waste, not now that she had Mac's possible location. She sighed glancing at Flack. She could swear the young detective was waiting for her silent nod to rush out with her.

Adam stepped toward her, biting his lower lip before he pressed on the screen. Seeing his tense face she wasn't going to like that.

"It's the record from the 911 call your guy made some time ago." He let his words sank in the silent room before he pressed again on the screen and a young female voice echoed in Mac's office.

Flack watched intensely as Stella's eyes widened, obviously recognizing the guy's voice from earlier. The three of them stared at the small screen as a girl and the man were taking through interferences.

_"If you can't speak..." _began the voice of the young girl.

_"I'm... I need help," _replied a weak, grating voice that Stella recognized right away. It was the same guy that had said Mac was dead. Her hands closed into fists.

Flack listened carefully. The young detective's brows furrowed, that grating voice looked like the guy had swallowed the entire smoke of a ten story building on fire. It was weird though, even through the interferences it didn't seem very natural. _Throat cancer, maybe? That will rule out a number of suspects for sure._

"That's him, Adam. How did you..." broke Stella.

"Well," began Adam very proud to explain how he had found Mac, "your guy turned on Mac's cell to make that call, so I got a trace as soon as he was in the network, and since we can get a copy from every dispatch in the city I had a software running to look for specific words, or calls coming from Mac's cell, so it wasn't hard really..." his voice trailed off as he caught Stella waving him to shut up, her full attention back on the voices.

_"Where are you sir?"_

_"__hu__..." _she could hear his voice was clearly in pain, and in fact, she didn't care. If he had hurt Mac, this man would never pay enough.

_"...am...some kind of basement... __building, I think... collapsed building..." _His voice started to ramble but this time it wasn't due to the interferences; pain again?

Flack glanced at Stella. She was standing still and seemed fine, but he knew better. She was stiff, anger boiling behind the green of her emerald eyes. He could swear if the man who was talking was in front of her right now, she would have jumped to his throat and killed him with her bare hands. _Yeah, you can tell everybody you two are just friends, but you clearly act if there was more, Stella. _He sighed._ Like me and Jess. _The painful image of his friend and lover lying in her blood surged into his mind before he shoved it away. Now wasn't the time to think about Jess. He had another friend in need, and this one required his full attention. So, he focused on the recording.

_"I'm sorry sir, __you're breaking up! Where did you say you are again?" _The girl seemed a bit panicked.

_What about Mac?_ Screamed Stella's mind. _He is the one in need of help right now. Not that damn bastard._

_"In...a basement," _the man stammered. "_...Building collapsed...don't know where..."_

_"Are you hurt?"_ the girl asked eagerly.

_Well damn it,_ Stella thought,_ I wish he is. _He told her so. There, she was going to know if he had lied about that too.

_"Head's hurt...hu..." _A long silence followed his words. "_...hole in the side...bleeding...can't stop it..." _A long exhalation followed his words, as if the man was trying to breathe.

_Alright, _she thought. But now that she was sure of that, she had to make sure Mac would be okay.

_"Okay, I can send help, but I need ..." _the voice of the girl continued to speak but Stella wasn't listening anymore. She had heard enough. It was time to go and find Mac.

"Let's go!" she shouted as she stared at Adam and Flack. "Good job, Adam. Don, you're with me. Alright let's move people!" Stella yelled, her back to them as she was already heading to her office. Both watched her go in silence.

Flack, a small smile creeping at the corner of his lips, rushed behind her. _Finally. _He met her as she exited her office; her coat in hand. As they stepped into the elevator, he heard her whispering something with a small voice; he guessed it was probably a prayer or something like that. But when she turned to him few seconds later her voice was cold and full of determination, demanding no question.

"I'm driving."

He raised an eyebrow but remained silent. Now wasn't the time to argue with Stella. She was too edgy for that. At least it was better to see her like that, than when he had found her a moment ago. Now she had swallowed the small fear creeping inside his mind. He just prayed that Mac was alright, otherwise, the crime lab wouldn't only lose its boss, but its second in command too. The two were so tightthan thinking one could survive without the other was just not possible. He sighed. Mac had to be okay. The guy was too tough to vanish this way. Even the team and himself would be too shaken if..._gee, c'mon Don,_ he scolded himself, _don't go there_. _Mac will be alright._

The doors of the elevator opened to the parking lot. The cold bitter wind assaulted him as soon as he stepped outside, chasing after Stella as the CSI was already at her car. _Damn woman_, he thought proudly, she was fast when she cared.

He watched, amazed, as she slid into the driver seat, and was now waiting impatiently for him to get in, her fingers squeezing the wheel. Frowning, he got inside and had just the time to put his seatbelt on that the tires were already screeching and smoking on the road. Now Stella was really pissed off.

_TBC...

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_**A/N:** I know another cliffie, what can I say? It's an angsty story!!! Sorry...:D So, now it's time for letting me know what you thought of this chapter and review. Thanks for reading anyway.


	6. What comes from tears

**A/N:**First of all, sorry guys for posting so late, but with the holidays and life catching up, me and my beta got pretty busy, so again, I'm sorry. I'd like to thank everyone who put this story or me on their alert list or as a favorite. I'm very happy you like it.

And again, a warm thanks to my beta, Blackdragon189, who besides her busy schedule managed to beta 'Stay with me for Christmas' and this chapter.

As I already written this story is gonna be long and we barely made it to the end of act I, so stay tuned! Here we go, chapter 6...

**Summary :** A man finds a body. When he picks up the ID in the coat, it reads "Detective first grade Mac Taylor". Is Mac really dead? What will Stella do when she'll learn the news? Angsty Smacked...

**Disclaimer :** I don't own anything, beside the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

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"I hate this," growled Tommy as he lifted a bar of charred wood. Jagged pieces of red bricks slid along the panel and hit the ground with a small thud, swallowed by the fresh, white snow.

Martin glanced at him, anger lurking in the depth of his eyes. The last thirty minutes had been the same, every time Tommy had to pick up something from the ground or look under the remains of a fallen wall, he was cursing. And right now, his older brother was getting on his nerves.

"Just find that damn cop, alright!" he lashed out angrily.

"Yeah, yeah, what do ya think am doin'?"

Tommy looked down at the white powder stuck into tiny, flaky balls around his cotton gloves, his flashlight coloring it in a creepy, orange snow. He hated snow, he hated cold, he hated this damn city, and he hated being here and doing this because the boss had ordered them to. He spat the taste of ice in his mouth and kicked angrily at a jutting fragment of red brick in front of him. Unfortunately, for him, the broken brick was part of a bigger piece underneath that was deeply stuck to the ground. He muffled a growling scream as a jolt of pain soared from his toes into his knees, sending painful sparkles of electricity along the way.

Martin glanced at his brother, his flashlight was lighting the wreck before him, and he couldn't see his brother's face contorted in pain, though he did hear him muffling a curse against the whole crappy idea of trying to find a needle in a frozen haystack. Sighing, his beam shaved the chunks of rocks partially covered by the snow. Searching near the right side of the building, still standing, his boots crunched under shreds of red bricks and wooden shards. Suddenly, he noticed a small hatch at the bottom of a wall inside the standing building. Probably, the old heater conduit, he guessed, turning his stare to the door next to it that seemed to stand solidly in the door, it was clearly indicated _basement_, though a gluing snow was starting to cover the dark letters. He huffed a scorn as he turned to his brother, anger boiling inside his veins.

"Did ya say you placed the C4 at every story?" he managed to utter between a clenched jaw.

"Hell I did, it took me a while to set it everywhere. Why?" questioned Tommy, his forehead carved by a small crease.

Martin lighted the basement door with his beam. "Did you think to blast the basement as well?"

"Basement?" Tommy stared at him with a stunned look. "You didn't say a thing about a basement," defended his brother.

"Damn it Tommy! I said everywhere! Basement counts for it. How do ya want this to crumble entirely if you forget its bases," Martin scolded angrily. "Can't do a damn thing right without me!"

"Wow, sorry, but you didn't talk about a basement or..." Tommy replied on the same tone.

Martin's hand raised to quiet his brother, Tommy lowered his voice. Pissed, he watched Martin walking toward the door, the argument already dropped. As always, his small brother could get angry really quickly but when he had said his piece, the matter was closed. So he shut up and waited quietly, with Martin it was always the best option.

"Help me out," Martin uttered between two breaths as he picked up a heavy rock on top of the others. A pile of rocks and dirt was stuck almost half way up to the top of the door, making it impossible to enter or even get out.

_**xxx**_

He was feeling drowsy, and every second passing was a new fight against sleep to remain awake. His eyes blinked wearily to shave off the dreadful sleep that weighed on his eyelids. He let out a small gasp as the stabbing pain in his side surged like a scorching flame, bursting into his chest and lungs, increasing the pounding hammer beneath his temples. His heart skipped a bit under the violent surge as the hot pain crept inside all his muscles. His arms tightened around his chest as he felt cold beads of sweat slowly dripping into his already damp neck and making him tremble from the freezing air and dull pain.

He smirked, cold as he was, it was very ironic that the only artificial heat provided to his body was coming from his aching wounds. He breathed out faintly as the pain slowly faded, leaving only a coppery taste in his mouth, and thanked whomever was in charge for this small break. His eyes fluttered a second before they shut again. Jerked awake by the sudden fall of his head to his chest, he fought the gloomy sleep and blinked desperately to stay awake. He couldn't sleep now. If he did, he was just as dead as the cop lying in this wreck.

Then, he turned his head, painfully, to the left, thinking he had heard something; every muscle in his body tensed and ached as if cold knives had been plunged into his flesh. He grunted weakly as his neck was stiff and aching as well. Even the smallest movement of his body was taking its toll on him, making him desiring more than ever than to just close his eyes and be done with it. But he couldn't let go. If he did, he knew the odds for him to wake up alive in this cold sickness of a room were as low as the current temperature, though something deep and strong inside of him was still clinging to an illusion of hope and salvation. He didn't know why or how, and yet that faint glimmer of hope was making him hold on though it was fading fast with his blood leaking from his body.

He breathed out loudly, squinting through the darkness. This time he was sure he had heard something. Listening more carefully, he heard voices this time. They were talking to each other. _Men? A rescue party maybe? _Hoping it was finally a rescue party, his frozen lips parted to yell he was down there. But only a faint croaking sound came out of his throat. _What if it's the cops?_ His mind reminded him. His dry mouth closed on his cold lips. If they were cops, he was dead. That girl would never let him live after what had happened to her friend, he could bet his life on it. Hell, his life was at stake anyway. So he chose to remain quiet and listened to the voices instead.

_"The whole damn thin'__ should have crumbled Martin, I swear." _One man was saying. _"The cop can't survive to that. So's Carl. We should get outta here."_

_"Damn it! Help me with this pole and shut up already!"_ another man replied, angrily, as his voice puffed, probably from lifting something heavy.

_"We're losin__' our time here, in this damn, freezin' weather. You know?"_ quickly added the other. _"That damn cop's dead. And Carl must be too."_

His brows furrowed. _Carl? _He had found the cop's body. Could it mean he was the Carl they were talking about? _Carl's my name?_ _Silly, but it doesn't ring any bell. _He thought for a moment, playing with the name and trying to find some images from his memory, but nothing came to his mind. He was as lost as before. His arms wrapped further around his chest as another round of tremors ran through his body, wrenching his aching muscles. His jaw clenched to keep his teeth from clickingand making some noise.

_"Shut the hell up, idiot. If any of them's alive I don't wanna spook them before we got __to them and finished the job."_

_"Huh... Carl too?"_ enquired the first voice with a bit of surprise.

_"Yeah__, Carl too. I'm fed up with that moron. Should've followed my rules instead of playin' that sick psycho. He's too dangerous to stay alive anyway. One day he'd have bumped into us. So, sooner's better."_

_"But what if the boss..."_

_"It was an accident, right? He stayed to play with the cop and got caught up in the blast, true right?"_

Tommy shook his head. _"Right, but..."_

_"Shut up, now!"_

A long silence followed their words, before he could hear them rummage through more wreck. _So, no rescue party; more like a killing party. Crap!_ Did anyone want to help save his ass? He sighed. Not a good day to wake up in this mess. Definitely not.

With a shaking hand, his numb fingers searched for the cold metal of the upside down bathtub. Pain erupted from the tip of his fingers as blood flowed, again, inside when he took support on the frozen metal, and raised on shaky legs; his right arm carefully nestled against his chest to protect his wound. The cold metal of the handcuff around his wrist bit more into his flesh, as it slid near the hand and grazed painfully at the thin layer of skin over the wrist bone. A small wince carved his face as he ignored the bite; it was nothing compare to his other wounds. No, he had to hurry and move. The voices were getting closer and surely he would be dead the minute they would spot him if he remained here.

Pushing on his tired muscles, he turned to his right, although in this thick darkness, right was a relative heading, since he wasn't sure he hadn't gone in circles since he had woken up. The freezing wind was blowing from this way, so, with some luck, he could head toward the wind and remained in its path until he found better shelter. But first, he had to convince his reluctant body to set in motion as his legs refused to move, the sneaky cold already settled into his flesh and bones. It was like having frozen Popsicles instead of legs. But after a few seconds, he managed to swallow the icy spikes biting into his muscles and was finally able to totter toward the wind. His boots grazed at the now frozen sludge as he hobbledfurther into the darkness, his hands taking support on whatever he could find to lean on.

Swallowing the wave of nausea that hit him, he focused on taking small, short breaths. Each time his lungs expanded to fill with cold air, a new wave of harsh, hot fire blasted from his side and into his chest. His head was madly throbbing, and he squinted painfully through the darkness, hoping to find a quick place to hide before he collapsed from exhaustion or worse.

His hand before him to search through the obscurity, loud, tiring beats burst in his head making him sway as his eyes closed again. One more step, he repeated to himself through his pounding headache, just one more step as he opened his eyes with difficulty. Then, his fingers met the cold rough material of a wall. His hand ran on the concrete wall, looking for anything that could help him as he barely noticed his foot breaking the thin layer of ice formed over a small puddle and the ten inches of freezing water where his foot sank into; he was already too cold for that. Then, finally, after some long and exhausting seconds, he found it as he kneeled down, wetting further his already dampedand frozen pants. He shuddered from the new cold added to his body before he squinted and patted at the opening.

It was a small, narrow opening in the wall, though it was enough for him to slip in, but he would have to sink into the glacial waters to reach the other side of the wall. Probably, an old access to a sewer, he deduced. He knew that going there could be his last move, trapping him, but he hoped somehow he would have enough strength to pull himself out of this hole as soon as those guys had given up on him. If they had found a way in, it meant there was a way out for him.

Crouching into the cold waters, he winced as the movement had reopened some of his wounds and felt suddenly dizzy. He hissed a muffle groan through clenched teeth, his hand pressing on his throbbing side. The sound of falling rocks hitting the ground far behind him woke him up and sent more energy into his weary muscles. With no time to think, he crawled into the small opening and choked back his breath as the frozen, dark waters hit his exhausted body, soaking his clothes. A small puffy cloud escaped his lips as water arrived to his chin, and he had to duck his head to pass under the small arch and onto the other side. His hands were numb and frozen as he couldn't feel them, and he quickly pulled them out of the glacial waters, rubbing them frantically.

Violent tremors hit him as he crawled out of the frozen waters and onto the other side, on drier ground, trembling and shaking uncontrollably as the cold liquid dripped from his soaked clothes. His teeth clicked together as he managed to find a dry spot against the opposite wall. His back against the cold wall, he slid, crumbling to the frozen ground. His breath was short and his heart about to explode beneath his skull as the tremors continued painfully to ravage his being. His head was pounding and he had a hard time to concentrate. He had shot a quick glance at the place, but through the darkness since he couldn't see much, he had just given up the idea of finding an escape and was more preoccupied now by the urgent need to warm his body than anything else as cold had seeped deep into his core. No heat was left in his body, hypothermia was already settling in. He breathed harder, cold air raking his throat as his lungs constricted under the loss of body heat. With pain stalking effort he wrapped his shaking arms around him and brought his trembling legs up, but they refused to join his chest, and he had to give up as he couldn't move anymore. His body frozen in a vain attempt for survival, he let his head sag limply on his shoulder. The glacial temperature was everywhere and he couldn't stop the mad tremors running over his lips and through every inch of his body. Maybe going in this hide out hadn't been his best idea. His eyes closed from exhaustion, his chest raising and falling in rhythm of the fast beating of his heart. He just hoped they wouldn't find him.

_**xxx**_

His boots slipped onto the cold mud, moving small rocks. The stones rolled down and fell with a dull thud into the frozen ground.

"I think I heard somethin'," whispered Tommy as his beam shoved the entwined rocks and poles standing before him.

"You mean besides your clumsiness," sneered his brother, referring to the noise he'd just made.

"No, not that. Listen!"

Both men remained quiet, listening into the darkness. And then, suddenly, they heard it. Although it was weak, it sounded more like light breathing; a whimper into the cold darkness.

"Okay, you go this way," instructed Martin, as his flashlight pointed straight ahead of Tommy's side, on the left. "I'll go the..." his voice trailed off and finally stopped. "What's that?" he asked with a hint of fear.

"What?"

From far above, the faint, whining sounds of sirens were starting to be heard.

"Shit!" cursed Martin. "Cops!"

His beam shaved frantically over the fallen rocks and wrenched poles, lighting hastily the darkness in hope of finding their prey. He could see thousands of spots where a man could hide. _Damn it!_ He cursed again as he glanced at Tommy.

"Let's get outta here!"

He heard relief filling his brother's voice as he sighed heavily. He shook his head and smirked at the cold wreck as a small cloud escaped his lips. It was even colder here than from above. Ice had begun to cover the ground and every spot that was probably wet after the explosion. If anyone had managed to survive, then that damn freezing cold would finish him before the cops could get their hands on him. The place was too messy to find anyone quickly.

Sure of the terrible fate that awaited his teammate and the cop, he headed back to the crumbling stairway. Half of the steps had been reaped off with the blast, and now, he had to jump to reach the top end. His legs swung lightly under him as he got a hold on a strong wooden step. He crawled up, bringing a knee up to the step and stood up. As he turned, he grabbed for the hand his brother was handing him and pulled to lift him up. He stepped back to make room for his older brother, and to be sure the staircase wasn't going to collapse under their weight. As they both stood in the stairs, they climbed up to the exit, and pushed the door open.

The cold wind grazed at their sweaty faces as they rushed outside, the sound of sirens getting louder. Standing to the basement door, Martin glanced at his brother and grabbed a bunch of rocks and small poles, Tommy did the same, and they tossed together the junkat the back of the door, ensuring that nobody could get out from this exit. They smiled at each other as they looked at their work and ran into the snow toward their car. The harsh, blowing blizzard covered their tracks as they jumped in their car, started the engine and rounded the corner.

A furious truck pulled over right where they had been parked a minute later, its tires sliding onto the thin layer of ice now covering the snow. As it skidded on the frozen road, its left side first, it stopped instantly when its side ended with a bump into a chunk of icebound snow on the curb. Two people jumped out of the car, their sight moving from the left to the right of the street, before it finally settled on the ruins before them. The car's lights cast a yellow beam toward the ramshackle building hidden by the falling snow and the gloomy night; the blue, flickering light of the sirens scattered giant, moving shadows over the frail standing walls. Fear choked their hearts as they realized their friend might just be right under this mountain of broken rocks.

"Oh god!" whispered Flack as he glanced at Stella that had remained still.

Life had vanished from her green, emerald eyes and her jaw had dropped in a silent breath. Heavy, white flakes were starting to mass between her curly brown hairs as the wind blew violently in the empty street, lifting packs of fresh fallen snow. She remained still and silent the time she heard Flack calling for EMS and search parties, but then, she was quick to recover; time to dwell had long gone. It was time to find her friend.

Heading to the back of her truck, she opened the trunk and drew a pair of heavy duty boots. As she changed her shoes, her eyes remained stuck to the fragile building and its eerie shadows. It seemed that the right side was about to collapse in the next second; the wind blowing forcefully on it, trying to tackle it down.

She offered a silent prayer to whoever was in charge up there to keep it standing the time she could find Mac and crossed the street in a quick jog, her feet deepening into the ten inches of fresh snow with each step. Her flashlight shaved the dark shadows on the other side of the street as the light oscillatedbetween the shredsof the building. The wind blew stronger as to keep her from reaching her goal. Lifting her collar up to her throat, she darted a determined look at the angry weather. Even if a tornado was about to appear and land right in front of her; nothing would make her back away, nothing would stop her to reachMac if he was inside. Strong rage was etched on her face, her eyes casting her determination toward the grim elements as she bent forward and rantoward the building, her face trying to avoid the tiny shards of ice lashing at her exposed cheeks.

She knew Flack was right behind her as she could hear his footsteps crunching the icy snow. His determination was strong, too, as he hadn't uttering, a word leaving her to take the lead. She swallowed the hard lump deep in her throat. She was glad he was here with her. Mac would need any help they could gather; and if Lindsay and Hawkes hadn't already been assigned to a crime scene right now, she knew they would have been there too. Her thoughts went to Danny. The young, although experienced CSI, had dropped off his daughter to her nanny as soon as she had called him to tell him about Mac. But because of the weather and that the nanny was living on the other side of the city, he hadn't been able to join them. He was probably yelling at his wheel right now for not being here with her. Danny had a special bond with Mac. The young CSI looked up at to Mac like a big brother, even a dad sometimes, and it was probably hurting him now, not to be part of the search party. Although with his limping leg and this harsh, weather, it wouldn't have been good for him to be outside. Hell, Mac would have yelled at her if she had allowed him to be on the field right now. She sighed. Mac had probably felt guilty about Danny being in that wheelchair, even though it wasn't his fault.

She looked up at the red bricks scattered on the ground among the wrenched poles and pieces of wood and other fallen rocks. The snow had almost covered everything, hiding the red color beneath a thick layer of white, flaky powder. Deep sadness clutchedat her heart. Seeing the fresh broken wood, she calculated that the blast had happened lately and with the amount of snow covering it and the time snow had started to fall in the city she estimated that the explosion had probably occurred in the early afternoon. Her eyes closed as the hard truth hit her. If Mac was there, then, it meant he had been trapped in this damn mess for more than six or seven hours now. Her jaws clenched and her hands closed into fists at the thought of her partner stranded alone in this cold, maybe wounded, at gunpoint of a madman. As fear clutched at her heart, she scanned the ruins, trying to find an entrance to the basement, where the other guy, Mac's kidnapper, had said he would be. He had to be there, for her sake, and the team, Mac had to be there and alive.

Then, as she trudgedbetween the debris and headed toward the part of the building still standing, her beam met a wall. As the light rubbed its yellow color on it, the beam finally met what looked like a door. Though, it was hard to really be sure as the panel was covered with a thick layer of white sticking snow; it could be the extension of the wall with something stuck on it. Intrigued, she was heading toward it when her cell phone went off. She looked down at the screen, hope and fear blended in one full blow of emotions.

"Adam?" she asked, nervous._ Please don't give me a bad news. Not now that I have hope._ She closed her eyes afraid he was going to tell her they had found Mac's body somewhere in the city and that she was too late. She waited anxiously his answer.

"Huh, Stella?"

"Yes, Adam?" _C'mon Adam, don't make me wait._

"I huh...huh..." _oh god_, she thought, when Adam was rambling it was never for good news. "I...analyzed the 911 call and huh..."

"Adam! Just spit it already." She couldn't afford to lose more time. Hell, Mac couldn't afford to have less time. "I don't have time for..."

"It's Mac, Stella!" he cut her off, realizing too it wasn't the time for rambling.

"Adam, I don't understand." She pressed the phone closer to her hear, a confused look painted on her face.

"Well, I analyzed the 911 call and passed it through the scan to clean the interferences and..."

"Adam cut the crap! What about Mac?" her heart was beating fast now in her chest and she couldn't wait any longer. If the lab tech had something, he should just say it and be done with it. She had to find Mac, no time for processing or going by the book. And all his talk about the interferences and all, Jesus, she just didn't care. Why was he talking about that anyway, they had Mac's location with his cell... Her thoughts were cut as Adam continued.

"It's him Stella."

"Who? What?" she was confused now. What was he talking about?" Adam, I don't..."

"The guy you talked to, Stella. My analysis confirmed it, it's Mac. Your guy is Mac!"

"What? That can't be, Adam, they don't have the same voice and..." _and I wished him so many bad things. _She finished mentally._ Oh god._

"I know, I know. But I cleaned the interferences and although his voice seemed deformed, the voice analyzer confirms they have the same pattern, same tone and..."

"But he..." her words remained stuck in her throat, she couldn't believe she had talked to Mac, and he hadn't said a thing. Does that mean he couldn't remember her? Oh god. ..._Need help,_ she recalled his words.._.head's hurt... _Oh no, if he had a concussion or something like that it could explain his odd behavior._ ...hole in the side....bleeding, can't stop... _

_Bleeding. _The word echoed in her mind like an painful alarm. Mac was hurt. She had to hurry. Her heart beating fast, she didn't take the time to answer Adam as she just slid her cell in her coat's pocket, her hands shaking, and rushed to what could be the door she was looking for.

"Stella?" called Flack behind her, noticing her frantic behavior. "What?.."

Her gloves shaved quickly at the pack of sticking snow covering the door, unveiling the small black letters of the word BASEMENT. Her heart jumped further into her chest as blood pumped violently through her veins. _Mac's there,_ her mind repeated, _Mac's there._

"It's Mac, Don! Mac is the guy I talked to! He's here!" she shouted, her voice covering the blowing wind as she tried to pull the door open, but something was keeping it firmly closed. She looked down and saw with anger the chunks of rocks and iron bars pressed against the door.

Flack cursed as he hopped over a pile of junk to join her and tugged at the pole stuck between the rocks in front of the door.

"How...I mean why didn't he..." he tried but his thoughts were confused as he realized all the implications this simple statement would have on Stella and Mac. _She's going to be even more pissed at herself. _But it meant Mac was alive, and that on itself was the best news he had ever heard.

He looked up, and shot a grim look at the frail arch they were under. That building didn't look like it could stand up very long. He glanced at Stella picking up rocks covered with snow and tossing them aside to free the door. If the building collapsed now, it would bury them both as well as Mac. He gave a silent prayer for the building to hold on just enough for them to find Mac and get the hell out of here as he picked up heavy rocks. Help was on its way, all they needed to do now was find Mac.

Stella was still tugging madly at the door, frantically using her hopes and fears as driving forces to open up the damn door; pulling more and more on it, until it finally gave in on a dark opening.

The stench of putrid waters and cold humidity assaulted her nostrils as she stepped inside the gloomy mouth. Her heart was wrenched inside her chest as she imagined her partner bleeding, stranded and alone in this dark and freezing universe. Her boots crunched a bunch of wooden shards as she stepped further. She was about to let herself sink into the obscurity when she felt the firm hand of Flack gripped around her arm just few seconds before she lost her footing and her right leg dangled freely into an open space.

"What the..." she cursed as she brought her foot back to a solid ground, realizing she would have fallen without Don by her side.

"Hey! Watch your step, will you?" called Flack with a friendly voice. "One CSI missing is enough for the day, okay?"

She nodded lightly. He was right; she would be of no use to Mac if she got herself trapped or hurt. She took a deep breath and this time was careful to light her way in as she let herself being swallowed by the bleak mouth.

_**xxx**_

Voices echoed far from him. Painfully, he lifted his head, squinting toward the small obscure opening. He prayed they wouldn't find him. Those guys had been serious about no survivors; and since he was one, he wasn't going to let himself get killed that easily. He let out a weak sigh, although right now, he had nothing left to oppose them, he was too weak anyway. He wished he had taken the cop's gun with him; at least he would have been able to fight back, but it was too late for regret.

His eyes shut. Too drained to oppose them any resistance, he felt his head drop before him, his forehead resting over his damped, frozen knees. He tried to further tighten his arms around his chest to get some warmth, but it was a lost cause, as his limbs remained in place, too numb to move. The freezing cold had settled painfully inside his bones and joints, draining the last remnants of strength and will he had. He swallowed painfully as his mouth was so dry that even the cold seeping air was a freezing scorch every time it went in to fill his weary lungs.

Even though he knew he should be cold, hell, he was frozen cold, but his forehead was burning, a deafening hammer pounding behind his temples. In a last effort, he blinked to shave the drowsiness, and noticed with defeat that his eyelids were too heavy to stay open, so he gave up and let them shut for good; he was dying anyway. Maybe it would spare himself a long and agonizing death if he was just giving up right now. His mind screamed to wake up and fight, but it was hard when you had nothing to hang on to. As if to goad him and remind him what he would never have, his mind brought back the call he had with that woman. That cop girl; Stella. She had seemed very determined, a strong will; she was probably an extraordinary woman to meet. His thoughts drifted off to what his life could have been if he had met her before all this. Would he have ended up as a killer too? Or as a better man with a friend like that? Lead sleep was pressing on his shoulders and neck. It was hard to remain awake now.

Somewhere, he heard terrified screams. Before him the images of a grey, angry cloud of dust wrapped around him, choking his breath inside his throat; people were running and crying everywhere around him. Again, he felt death seep into his flesh as life had no meaning anymore, as if all the good memories inside of him had died in one sick moment, leaving only an empty shell filled with despair. Another voice yelled, as the images changed, the shadow of a man standing before him, uttering harsh, bitter words at him. He wanted to cover his ears with his hand but his body wasn't responding and the voice continued to scream, repeating he didn't deserve to live, he was a coward. His heart was about to explode in his chest now, and the pounding was so loud in his head that he couldn't fight anymore. His last thoughts as heavydarkness swallowed him, taking him to oblivion, were that the guy was right; he didn't deserve to live, he should let go.

_**xxx**_

She called his name, even though he might not respond to it, she wanted to make him know that help was coming, that he wasn't alone in this cold darknes; that his team and she hadn't given up on him.

"Mac? It's Stella. It's okay, I came to help," she added in case he wasn't remembering her.

Unfortunately, only silence answered back. Maybe he was hiding or unconscious. She shook her head, now wasn't the time for bad conjecture. _Damn it, Mac, where are you? Make a noise... something that could help me find you._

"C'mon Mac, if you can't talk just make a sound, something, please." She called again, her voice echoing into the cold basement.

Her beam frantically ran over the wreck before her, shaving in a yellow light the piles of the broken bricks and wooden panel scattered messily on the ground. After Flack had helped her to get down the broken stairs, she had immediately squinted at the darkness. Mac was there, she could feel it, and she was going to find him. With fierce determination, she hobbled between the piles of stones and shredded woods, dusting some broken panels as she had to move them aside and made her way in toward the center of what looked like a giant basement. It could have been used as a small parking lot or storage for goods at one point, but the truth was, that now, it was really difficult to know what its first purpose had been. There was nothing left from the internal walls if there had ever been some. She glanced at her cell phone, and pressed to call Adam. But her line went dead.

"Don? Is your phone working in here?" she questioned.

"No. Mine neither," he answered back after a minute.

"Crap, the storm and the wreck upstairs must have stopped the signal," she stated with gloom.

This wouldn't be good if the building finally collapsed. Then, they would be trapped and with no way to make themselves known. She nodded silently. This wasn't gonna stop her from finding Mac.

Her light moved quickly to the left, shadows fleeing from the bright light as she was looking for a trace or a face looking back at her, Mac's face. But as the seconds passed, her heart pounding faster with each minute, nothing moved, only the cold silence of death remained. They hadn't found anything or anyone until now. She glanced nervously at Flack ten yards to her right, her face a mask of deep sorrow and wrenching pain. His crystal blue eyes stared back at her with grim, tight lips. If Mac was there, he wasn't going to be easy to find.

"Mac, it's Stella. Mac?"

A cold wind blew into her neck, and she pressed her collar around her throat, shivers running through her skin. This place was even colder than outside, she thought. The muddy ground she was walking on had frozen some time ago, although it happened that her foot sank deeper into it when her boots broke the thin ice covering the remnants of small puddles of water, like now. She let a curse escape her lips as she raised her foot with a sucking sound, as a gluing, cold sludge stuck to her boots, but she quickly forgot about it. Everywhere her beam lighted, it was to discover a broken panel covered with dust, a thin layer of ice cladding it. She prayed Mac had found a way to stay warm, at least she remembered than when he left he had taken his coat; hope lingered in her eyes when she glanced at Flack.

For the young detective, the cold silence of the basement, only broken by Stella's desperate calls, reminded him of the time he had barely woken up after the blast he and Mac had been caught in. At the time he hadn't been very conscious to register what happened around him. He could just recall Mac's urging voice talking or mumbling things to him, even now it wasn't very clear in his mind. But what he recalled the most was the cold; that sickening cold. In all his life, he had never felt that cold but that day. Though today, he swore this silent basement was pretty much as cold as how he had felt at the time. Nervously, he swallowed the lump in his throat, hoping Mac had found a way to escape this freeze. The man had been there for him, although he couldn't remember much, but now he wanted more than anything to find his friend and be there for him as well. He didn't want his friend to experience the same cold, sneaking death that had seeped through his skin and sucked all heat from his being. His sight went down, as a scariest thought invaded his mind. If Mac was really in this mess, he could also be in a crappier place than the one he had found himself into. _Shit!_ He hoped it wasn't the case. Mac was smart and would find a way to hang on, no matter what the odds were.

Slowly, his beam shaved a pile of bricks, and he blinked to make sure of what he had seen. Near the bricks, he distinguished a small panel which was odd as it wasn't covered with the same white dust like the others. Intrigued, he walked with difficulty toward it, avoiding a heavy panel that had half collapsed to the ground, and stopped dead. Before him, between pieces of broken bricks and wooden bars, the body of a man laid motionless on the ground. His face down, a pole entered from the back of his head and finished deep in the ground, making it hard to really see the hair color or who it was. His stomach churned from the amount of blood clotted beneath the head and body. Fate hadn't given any chance for the poor bastard, he just hoped it wasn't Mac. But then, fear seized him as he recognized Mac's pin on the black lapel. He remembered what Stella had said, about the guy on the phone being Mac; he just hoped she was right.

"I found someone," Flack called; his eyes half shut, as he tried to suppress the sudden urge to hit something. His friend couldn't be dead.

In a matter of seconds, Stella was beside Flack, staring over his shoulder as he was crouched near the body and had picked up something on the ground. With shaking hands, he lifted the jacket and noticed the cop's badge stuck in the frozen sludge.

"Shit!" He cursed, as his beam light Mac's shield and ID. His thumb rubbed the dirt spread over the number engraved on the golden shield, 8433; Mac's shield. The deadly realization sank in him as he heard Stella beside him.

"It can't be him, Don!" Stella shouted with a painful moan. "I know it can't! It's not him, Don! It's not! I talked to him!" Her hand came before her mouth as she locked her desperate eyes with her friend.

"Stella, I'm sorry, but it's his clothes, his shield and ID, and the head is too..." his voice trailed off as he didn't want to upset her more and didn't want to believe it himself; but cold truth always hit hard. "Look, I don't know how to..."

"I know," she cut him off, as she passed him and kneeled in the frozen, bloody pool near the body. "I know it's not him," she repeated as she lifted the body on and turned it on its right side.

She knew she was going against the rules by doing so, she was messing with the crime scene, but right now she had to be sure. They had to find Mac and couldn't lose time by processing a body in a building about to collapse knowing it could clearly sign his death. No. Life first, it had always been Mac's motto and she intended to keep it going. So for her, it was Mac's life first.

Flack watched silently as she pulled a knife from her pocket, slid the blade and began to cut through the white, bloody shirt, revealing a yellow undershirt that she quickly cut too. Then, her fingers rubbed the skin as she was looking for something.

"Stella?" he questioned, not sure if his friend hadn't lost her mind.

"Here," she stated with relieve. "Look!"

"Look to what?" he asked raising his brows.

A stern look appeared on her face as she pointed to the skin near the heart. Flack squinted but seeing nothing he raised a curious look to her.

"I don't see anything," he admitted.

"Exactly," she stated, with a tint of victory. "Mac has a scar over his heart," she explained.

He sighed a long relief. "So Mac is still somewhere." A faint smile grazed at his lips. _Thank God!_

"Yeah, and now we have to find him," she quickly replied as she stood up, and resumed her search. _No time to lose._

Her eyes darted to the darkness, hope gleaming with more force in her eyes. If it was the body Mac had talked about on the phone, then, he was definitely in this place, and hopefully not too far from it. She painfully recalled his voice through the interferences. How could she not recognize his voice? The voice she had craved for hours to hear. She cursed at the destiny that had played tricks on them. First, tricking and confusing Mac, and now her, to be unable to reach her partner when she could have helped him sooner on the phone.

Slowly, her light grazed at the ground, looking for the small detail that would lead her to her partner, and then, deep in her thoughts, she spotted it. It was small though, but used to crime scenes, she wouldn't have missed it. It was a small dark smear on the frozen sludge._ Blood drops._ _Mac._ As she gave a silent prayer for him to be okay, she followed the bloody trail. Her heart pounded in her chest as the harsh reality sank in. He was hurt and bleeding; he hadn't lied. The drops were sparse and then vanished when the ground became less frozen and wetter, the sole of her boots slicking into cold sludge. She raised her beam to the wall before her; her heart taking more speed as she spotted a trace left by a bloody hand mixed with dirt on the wall.

"Mac," she called, almost unable to keep her heartbeat from exploding into her throat. "It's Stella. Please Mac, make some noise so that we can find you."

She listened carefully, waiting for a slight brush, a wheeze, anything that would state he was there. But nothing; only the same deafening silence.

"We've come to help," she continued, not about to give up on him. "We won't hurt you. I know you may not remember, but you're a cop too. Please, Mac..."

Only the faint dropping sound of water dripping somewhere echoed to her voice. _Damn it! _He had to be somewhere. If the trace on the wall was from him, he couldn't be very far. Her light shavedthe wall looking for more details, and fell to the bottom of the concrete wall. In the sludge, she could see footprints mixed with the same dark crimson color painted on the wall. More blood. _He was there._ _Mac had been right here._ Hope and anxiety raised inside her, her heart beating madly behind her temples as besides her or Flack there was nothing else moving. He should have answered her by now. Was he afraid of her? If he was in shock and still not remembering who he was, then he would try to hide from her. Cold fear clenched at her heart, imagining her partner, bleeding and dying a few yards from her but afraid to reveal himself. But other dreadful thoughts invaded her mind, paralyzing her hands as Mac could already be dead. No. She prayed she wasn't too late. No. Mac would hold on. But another scaring thought rose with a frantic panic. What if he didn't remember who he was? Would he be able to hold on? She swallowed the fear that had invaded all her muscles, taking a deep breath and pushing away the panic that was rising inside her, paralyzing her.

Appearing from nowhere, her beam caught the sight of a small opening carved at the bottom of the wall. It was small and narrow as the dripping water had started to hide the hole, but it was there. Kneeling into the cold puddle, she quivered as the freezing water wetted her pants, sending chills along her skin. Her beam lighted the dark opening in front of her as she pressed her forehead against the cold damp edge of the broken wall and squinted to see what was inside.

At first, she saw only darkness as the golden ray of light swayed between one corner to another, but then, the light caught a small shape. It was far from the hole, and she could only distinguish clothes. It could either be a big pile of old ragsor Mac, she wasn't sure. Her light rested on the spot as she went further in the dark waters; the cold liquid seeping to her waist as she crouched and passed the small opening, leaving Flack and the basement behind her. The yellow light swayed with her awkward move, scattering shadows behind the dark shape. As the light went to a halt, her heart nearly stopped beating in her chest when she caught the glimpse of a face; Mac's face.

She couldn't see much as his head sagged limply before him and most of his face was covered with dirt and blood, but she would have recognized him was him, her partner. She had found him. Relief, happiness and dread all together blending into a turmoil of emotions that surged through her heart and mind as she frantically called his name.

"Mac!" her voice broke in her throat as he didn't respond.

Standing up, her boots and pants soaked by the cold waters, she waded through the dirty frozen sludge and crossed the distance that separated her from Mac. She kneeled beside him on a drier but frozen ground as her sight took account of his fragile and bloody shape.

His face ashen, he sat limply, his back drooping against the small, concrete wall, his knees tentatively brought to his chest as his arms were trying drearily to cling into the bottom of his frozen pants as if to protect him from the cold. He wasn't moving, neither appeared to be breathing. She pulled off one glove, fearing the worst when her warm fingers touched his clammy, cold skin near his neck. After an eternity, she finally found a pulse and let her breath go not realizing she had held it all this time. It was weak, but the slow beating of his heart was there; he was holding on, Mac was holding on.

"Hold on a little bit Mac,"she whispered to his ear, praying he was conscious enough to register her words."Flack, call EMS. I found Mac," she yelled to the detective.

She heard him running and stumbling through the wreck as he rushed outside to pass the interferencesand call them.

Her attention back to Mac, her heart sank when she noticed the thin layer of ice covering his eyelids and the frozen blood and dirt stuck in strands of his dark hair. His pants and undershirt were covered in a cold mud, although most of his clothes were soaked. She discovered with pain that the end of his pants and sleeves were frozen when she tried to take one of his hands in hers. His fingers were so cold that she shivered as she entwined her fingers in his. Cupping his chin with her other hand, she lifted his limp head up. Panic was now invading all her senses as he wasn't reacting to her touch and as his eyes remained painfully closed, as if, even unconscious he could still feel the cold frosty bite of the low temperature around him. As she tried to calm her own heartbeat, she pressed a soft hand against his forehead, and found his skin clammy and burning; probably from a fever.

"C'mon Mac, wake up. It's Stella." She wanted to scream, yell at him and shake him to have a reaction, to be sure he could hear her, but seeing his weak frame she was afraid he could break in her arms like a fragile doll.

He needed heat something to warm him up. Pressing her body against his cold and wet form, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led his back to lean against her chest. Opening her coat and jacket, she shivered when she felt his cold damp clothes starting to wet her own shirt; but she didn't care, this way she hoped he would get some heat from her. Quickly, and carefully not to move him too harshly, she pulled off her coat, and as he lay back against her, she covered his frozen body with it. His legs unwrapped on the ground now, she noticed the crimson shirt wrapped loosely around his waist as she tugged him in.

Swallowing her fear to lose him, she placed a warm hand over his wound under the coat, trying to keep his body firmly nestled against her and then pressed tenderly the other against his glacial,left cheek, his cold head resting in the crook of her shoulder. Her chin leaned on his soaked, messy hair as she prayed and closed her eyes. She gently rubbed his cold cheek, softly wiping the dirt and blood with her thumb and hoping he would hold on long enough for EMS to arrive and take him to a warm place.

A silent burning tear, rolled down her chin, and got lost between the ice and dirt stuck in his hair. Her arms tightened around his cold, fragile body, never wanting to let him go as she slowly rocked him back and forth.

"I got you, Mac... Please... don't leave me... Just... Just hang on, okay?" she murmuredas she dropped a warm kiss on his cold forehead. "Don't leave me now, Mac." More tears ran down freely into his cold, messy hair while her warm cheek nestled against his, cladding her own skin with a mix of dirt and blood. They gently continued to rock; his arms lying limp against his sides; his still body a mournful contrast to life as she softly stroke his cold, bruised cheek with love.

Her croaked voice came out full of pain and sobs as she dearly clung at him, still rocking him back and forth. "Stay with me, partner. Just stay with me..."

_TBC...

* * *

_

**A/N: **Well, another cliffie, can't help sorry! So what do you think it's gonna happen to them now? Will Mac survive to that as they're finally together? All thoughts are welcomed, so feel free to say your piece Smackers!! :)


	7. Hopes and deception

**A/N: **Alright, I'm just back from my training course, and guess what? I edited this chapter for you guys. So I hope you'll like it. As always, special thanks to all that have put me on their alert list or favorite, and a big one for Bladraggon189.

So let's continue this story now...

**Summary:** A man finds a body. When he picks up the ID in the coat, it reads "Detective first grade Mac Taylor". Is Mac really dead? What will Stella do when she'll learn the news? Angsty Smacked...with the whole team.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, beside the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

* * *

The first thing that struck Danny when he got out of his car, was the dull silence of the place contrasting with the agitation all around him. Here and there, firefighter trucks, EMS and police cars were parked messily in the street and even on the curb as they had pushed packs of dirty snow in chunks with their bumpers in front of their cars. A bunch of men and women were getting out of their cars and trucks, and all were looking at the crumbled building, half of it already in pieces on the ground. Danny's stomach churned at the thought that his boss was somewhere below this wreck, waiting in the freezing cold. It seemed so unnatural to be there for Mac, and not just for a case.

He watched as the firefighters and police officers were gathering around what look like the man in charge. The blue and red flashing lights of the sirens twinkled dark shadows on the tired faces, giving to the whole show a ghastly feeling. The week had been tough on all of them, he could see it in their eyes and despite the fatigue, they were here, in this frozen street, to help them get his boss back. It was in days like that, that Danny was very proud of his job and to work with these dedicated people. Few people were really aware of their dedication at four in the morning when the common folks were in the middle of a full eight hour sleep, tugged in under warm blankets. He shook his head as he watched the K9 squad parked near his car. Two men got out quickly, their boots crunching the icy snow as they headed to the back door, and opened it. Two German Shepherds welcomed them as they tied them to a leash and rubbed their heads.

His sight went back to the man in charge near the police car. The fresh, flaky snow stuck under his shoes with a dull, cracking sound as Danny hobbled toward the first group, his cane forgotten in the truck, in hopes to find news about his boss. As soon as Adam had told him about Mac's possible location, he had turned his car around and had headed directly here. He knew Stella would be pissed off as she and Mac didn't want him in the field for the next couple of weeks or so, until his legs had fully recovered, but hey, Mac was his friend too. He remembered too vividly how, when his brother Louie had sunk into a coma, Mac had been there, supporting him and helping him to get through it. And when he thought about it, every rough time he'd gotten since he joined the CSI, his boss and friend had been there. So, he wasn't going to let some rules keep him out of the game when his friend needed all the help he could get._ No way. _He pushed back his glasses as he approached the group,even if it meant to get a reprimand or lose his job, he wasn't going to give up on Mac.

As he neared the group, the men gathered in a circle made some room to let him in. The man who looked in charge, the chief of the fire department as Danny deduced from his black helmet and fire suit, welcomed him with a grim face. He could read the name, Jenson stuck on the left side of his vest.

"You're CSI?" asked Jenson.

"Yeah, Danny Messer. I think you're lookin' for my boss, Mac Taylor."

"Well," began Jenson, his expression a bit annoyed. "We aren't, in fact. When we arrived, Detective Bonasera and Flack weren't here, and since then, we haven't gotten any news." He turned toward the collapsed building. "And I'm not sending my men into a crumbling building for a what-if situation without someone able to vouch that we really have somebody to rescue, sorry."

_What?_ Anger began to boil beneath Danny's eyes as he felt his knuckles turned white under his clenched fists.

"If she told you he's here, it means he's here!" he shouted, his arms raised up to the sky, not caring when the men near the chief started to back away, obviously not wanting to take part in the argument. "And while you're making up your mind, she and Flack are probably inside, trying to find Mac!" His face had turned red, and he was sure that at least two-thirds of the men around had heard him.

"Sorry detective, but we're not sure. They could easily be investigating another building," Jenson tried to apologize.

Danny fumed, how can this guy play that dumb so easily when Mac's life was at stake?

"We all got the address and the number. Only this building fits Adam's description. What do you need more?" His hands flew before him in the air, pointing at the crumbled building.

"Well, detective," replied angrily Jenson, emphasizing his rank. "This is no building. That's a ramshackle about to crumble on its bases, and I'm not sending my men for a possible man that surely dead by now!" the chief looked straight at Danny. "I'm not just talking about the building falling on him, no. There's this damn weather. Nobody can survive in this cold for that long." He glared at Danny. "I'm not taking the risk to get a body."

"...You..." enraged Danny as his eyes blazed the anger burning inside him. How could this man talk about Mac, as if he was dead? That idea was just impossible! He was about to reply a well hot reply when he was cut off by a yelling coming from the ruins.

Waving flashlights pointed into the collapsed building where he could see someone moving out of the ruins. A long, slim silhouette brought his hands before his eyes as he got caught between the beams of the police officers nearby.

"It's Flack," shouted happily Danny, as he trudged as fast as he could toward his friend.

"We found him," yelled Flack, his breath short. "Stella's with him right now. He needs medical attention." Flack added as he waved at the EMS to come with him.

As Flack was about to get back inside the building, Danny joined him.

"You don't want to go in Messer," he told him, his hand raised before him to stop Danny.

"He's my friend too, Don," pushed Danny, continuing to make his way toward the basement entrance.

"Yeah, don't take it too personally Danny, but it's a wreck down there, and you aren't quite the athlete right now, okay?" He uttered softly, hoping he hadn't been too hard on his friend, though he couldn't deal with a pissed off Messer right now. His first priority was to get Mac and Stella beforethis building collapsed.

Danny nodded, understanding the situation. Even if, inside, he was pissed off to be left behind, the most important thing was to get Mac back; his own pride, because of his leg, would have to wait.

As the cold wind blew into his neck, icy snow lashing his leather jacket, he watched sternly as his friend rushed back inside the building and was swallowed by the narrow crumpling opening, he prayed his boss was going to be okay.

_**xxx**_

His body was cold, too cold, she thought, as fear clenched at her heart and soul. This couldn't be happening. She breathed out, her lips letting escape a faint sob as a small cloud formed before her lips. Mechanically, she wiped the small tears watering her eyes. Now, wasn't the time for that. He needed her and her mind focused on the situation, she scolded herself as she tightened her grip around his frozen body, trying to get some warmth back into his cold limbs.

"Hold on Mac, help is on its way. You hear me?" she was speaking quickly as she felt her own body trembling from the cold and fear of living her nightmare.

Her warm fingers continued to gently rub his cheek. Damn, he was so cold and so still; it wasn't like him. She sighed, shaking as images of their argument flashed before her eyes. She regretted so much; her words, his departure, and the way to speak to him when she thought he was the man that had hurt Mac. She swallowed the bitter taste of guilt lingering in her throat, her face still pressed against his unmoving features. She was doing her best to bring some warmth into him, but it wasn't enough, and what he really needed was a warm bed and being taken care of. She sighed, pressing his back closer to her. His head sagged a little from her shoulder, but she gently nestled it with her hands and snuggled it against her cheek.

"Stay with me Mac," she whispered to his ear.

The silent darkness was suddenly broken by a rumbling noise.

_Oh no. Not now,_ she prayed, thinking the building was about to crumble. _Please, let me have time to get him safely out._

"Stella," called Flack's voice as she realized that it was him rummaging through the wreck that separated them.

"Over here, Don," her voice filled with hope. "Did you bring EMS?" she looked down at her unconscious partner, his eyes desperately closed and her heart growled in pain.

Another scuffling followed by something heavy dropping on the ground and a mumbled curse echoed, before Flack's voice pierced through the noise.

"Yeah, they're with me. Where are you?" he asked his voice getting closer.

"A small hole in the wall. Hurry, Don, he's unconscious and I can't wake him up!" her voice yelled.

Her hands pressed harder on his wet, cold chest, and a faint grunt escaped his lips.

"Mac!" She stared at his pale, dirty face. "It's Stella! Hold on, okay?" Her hand grazed at his burning forehead. _Fever._ "Hold on, Mac, you hear me?"

She watched with anxiety as his eyes fluttered open for a few seconds at her frantic calls, before the slumbering cold took him away with a weak moan, a small cloud escaping his bluish lips.

"It's okay, Mac," she whispered, her hands caressing his forehead and pressing the back of his head against her chest. Chills ran down her body, at his cold and soaked body wet her own clothes. But she ignored it, her attention focused on the survival of her friend. "I'm taking care of you now. You can rest," she whispered gently in his ear.

She heard him mumbled something, but it was too weak for her to understand.

"I'm not leaving you partner," she repeated softly, her warm breath caressing his glistening, cold neck. He trembled a minute in his restless sleep before she felt him giving up and went limp in her arms. "Mac...? No Mac, you got to hold on!" Fear crept in her chest as her stomach churned, and she checked for a pulse. Finding a faint one, she closed her eyes, thankful he was still holding on.

More scuffling ahead, warned her that Flack was getting closer. Her assumption was quickly confirmed as Flack's beam was shoved in her face. The young detective lowered his flashlight his beam catching the frail shape of Mac nestled in her arms. His heart sank at the miserable look of his friend and millions of questions popped in his mind. What had happened to him? Was he really the guy Stella had on the phone? He took a long breath to calm his mind as he helped the ME to pass the opening and attend to Mac.

One of them drew out a survival blanket from his med kit and set it over Mac's unmoving body, while the other was assessing his vitals.

"Was he conscious when you found him?" the ME enquired to Stella.

"No. No he wasn't. But his eyes opened a few minutes ago. It's a good sign right?" she asked, ready to cling to any good news she could get.

The ME didn't respond, as he took Mac's pulse. "It's weak," he told to his friend. "But he seems to be holding on."

The other ME sighed, his head shaking from side to side. "He's lucky. With this cold..." his voice trailed off as he caught Stella's anxious stare. "He's gonna be okay detective. If he managed to hold on till now, well, he should be okay."

She nodded quietly. That was all she needed right now; knowing that Mac was going to make it.

"Joe," called the other ME. "We have to hurry!" as he showed him the dark crimson wound in Mac's side and the dark bruise marking his left temple.

The other nodded, avoiding Stella's watched helpless as the ME patched quickly Mac's side and temple with heavy dressings and stood up. As each ME took hold of his legs and arms, his body hanging loosely between them, they waded through the cold puddle and passed the small opening in the wall. Her heart sank as Mac's head lolled limply backward. It was frightening to see him so defenseless, but she clenched her jaws and followed them, trying to calm her racing heart. Mac was strong, she just prayed he could be strong enough to hold on a little more.

On the other side, Flack helped them to settle Mac on a stretcher and strapped him with layers of warm blankets tugged over him. His eyes remained close and she wondered what had really happened to him. He looked so weak, she couldn't shake the idea that she should have been with him, that everything was her fault. Her words had pushed him away, without them he would still be in his warm office, working stubbornly on the kid's case. But at least, he would be okay, and his life wouldn't be hanging on the balance. She sighed as she stepped beside the stretcher gazing at his closed eyes and gently grabbed his cold hand that had escaped the blankets. That's when she noticed the frozen handcuff, hanging from his wrist. The skin was scorched and swollen all around his wrist like if he had struggled to get free from it. And then, the puzzle suddenly took place in her mind, realizing why Mac had thought he could be a convicted felon

It tore her heart to think that he could have made such a terrible assumption about himself, though it was logical. His badge and gun near the dead guy meant he had discovered it there and not on him, or he would have kept it with him. His wounds and the handcuff had probably achieved to convince him of a dark past he never had. She frowned. But the things he had said kept echoing in her mind, and even for Mac it was weird._ Later,_ she decided. Later, she'd asked him. She raised her eyes as the group had reached the broken staircase.

Two firefighters on top of the stairs were hovering over them, ropes sloping from the stairs to the ground. Flack and the MEs quickly tied the ends of the stretcher to it, and she watched with anxiety as Mac was hauled up. The stretcher swayed in the darkness before he finally reached the top and the firefighters got a firm hold on it. She released her breath as they took him outside the threatening building. _Hold on, Mac._

A few minutes later, when she reached the top herself, she quickly unfastened the ropes around her waist and rushed outside the crumbled building. Whatever happened, she wasn't gonna leave him alone this time. The chilling, gusty wind caught her by surprise as she stepped outside, blinking at the flickering red and blue lights coming from all the trucks parked in the street and the flying snow shoved in her face. Her hand before her eyes, she distinguished the blue gleaming light of the ambulance on the right side of the street and trudged through the flaky snow toward it. They weren't going to leave without her. As she neared the ambulance, she spotted Danny, a grim look painted on his face as his hands were patting Mac's arm.

"You gonna make it, Mac," he was saying at the unconscious form of his boss snuggled under the warm, gray blankets.

She was thankful for him to be there, though she had told him not to come but to continue the search at the lab. She knew the young CSI was a man of action, he had already spent too many hours out of the field since he got shot, and with Mac MIA, she couldn't blame him for coming over. Hell, she was even proud he did; a weak smile grazed at her lips, before her sight returned on Mac's still form.

"I'll call the team," said Danny as he noticed Stella heading his way. "You should stick with him," he continued as his worried gaze went to Mac's pale face and locked into hers. "I'll take care of here and join you guys as soon as I'm done."

As the snow kept falling in heavy bundles and started to lay a thin white layer over Mac, the ME hauled him inside the ambulance and glanced at the two CSI, waiting to know if there was one more passenger.

"Thanks Danny," answered Stella as she quickly climbed behind Mac and sat near him, cupping his cold, bloody hand between her warm fingers.

Danny nodded quietly as the doors were closed and watched the ambulance hollering on the uneven icy road as it left the gloomy street. He hoped his boss was going to be okay. If anything bad happened to Mac, well, he didn't know how he would be able to cope. They had already lost Aiden and Angel; honestly he didn't think he'd have the courage to stay at the lab without him. It would be too painful. He shook his dark thoughts as he slowly walked back to Flack, who was waiting near the standing side of the building, his brows furrowed. What was he still doing here? wondered Danny, especially next to a dangerous pile of ruins ready to crumble.

"Hey Flack! A bit dangerous the place you are, man," he called, a bit nervous as he stuffed his gloved hands inside the pocket of his leather jacket.

His friend smirked. "Got a body down there."

"No man, you're kiddin' me, right?"

"I wish Danny. His head's been impaled in some kin' of pole. Gonna be hard to fin' his ID if he's not in the system with his prints." Flack glanced at the dark opening and sighed. This case involving Mac wasn't gonna be easy.

Danny nodded and shivered slightly as he stared at the dark opening that had retained his boss for hours, in a dark, frozen jail. If Adam hadn't got a match on his cell, there had been no way they would have come up this far and in this ramshackle to find him. He sighed, and with this snow storm and the dropping temperature, even Mac wouldn't have been able to make it out alive. Yeah, they had been really lucky to find him. He stared at the frozen flakes falling over him. Some fell straight on his glasses and melted right away, leaving small drops of cold water. Hopefully, they would be more lucky and Mac would be alright and soon behind their back.

"You've seen Mac?" asked Flack, his voice filled with concern as he glanced at a distracted Danny gazing at the snowy, dark sky over him.

"Yeah," he looked down to his boots now covered with fresh snow. "Not pretty. Stella's with him."

He sighed, trying to shave off the fear that hadn't stopped creeping inside his chest since he had seen his boss, lying unconscious. Mac was the toughest guy he had ever known, and seeing him like that, defenseless, and unaware of what was going around him, had made his stomach churned in fear. Yeah, he was scared. He looked up, his blue pools connecting with the weary crystal ones of Flack.

"Do we have an idea of what happene'?"

Flack sighed, his gaze looking far into the dark opening. "All I know, is that Mac disappeared sometime between ten this morning and five. That Stella talked to him on the phone without knowing it was him, and then Adam traced him here."

Danny shook his head lightly. "She must be pissed off about herself?"

"She's not showing it, but I'll bet she is." Flack whispered. "You should have seen her down there with Mac, clinging at his unconscious body. Jesus, I don't know what's gonna happen now, but they're both gonna need some real time off."

Nodding, Danny watched quietly, as the firefighters hauled the corpse of a man that would soon be in Sid's lab. He swallowed the lump in his throat, as he realized that on this stretcher, it could have been Mac. He let out a small breath as the body was zipped in a black bag, and he pulled out his cell. He'd better call Linds before she went into cardiac arrest waiting to know if Mac was okay. As he knew his wife, she wouldn't be able to focus clearly until she got the news that he would be okay. He remembered all too clearly how she had been pissed off at not being able to help Stella when she had been attacked by Frankie as he and Linds had been pretty busy on another case. Furthermore, the young CSI, bred in Montana, wouldn't appreciate being left out of the loop, especially after Mac and Stella had helped her get through some tough time too. He sighed as he stuck the phone near his ear, bringing up his collar, as the gusty wind lifted a cloud of white flakes toward him. His face tensed as the dusty, chilling snow hit him before continuing toward the center of the street.

"Hey, Montana," he called on the phone, dusting the snow that was now stuck in his dark, blond hair. He smirked, he could already hear her brows furrowing. He hadn't called her Montana in months since their wedding. In fact, if he recalled it correctly he hadn't called her like that in a very long time. He pinched at the top of his nose. She was going to quickly understand that things weren't that good. He sighed, he had never been able to hide anything from her anyway.

"Danny? How's Mac?" she asked quickly, her voice rising in concern.

"Well, the ME say he's stable but...Linds," he took a deep breath. "Linds, he was unconscious when Stella found him, and he's in pretty bad shape."

He heard a long silence followed by her slow breathing. Mac down was hitting all of them. He sighed, hoping things were going to be okay from now on.

"Are you at the hospital?" she finally asked, her voice sad.

"No, I'm heading there as soon as I'm done with the crime scene here."

She sighed loudly on the phone. "I still have a couple of things to wrap up with Sheldon, here. You call me when you get there, and you got news, okay?"

He could hear the worries beneath each of her words. "Mac is strong Linds. He'll pull through this, as he always does." He tried to convince her.

Another loud sigh on the other side of the line, was enough for him to understand that she didn't want to be comforted right now. "Call me Danny, okay?" her voice soft but lightly pleading.

"Yeah, I will." He hung up and glanced at Flack, who sent him a small understanding nod. "What do we have?" He asked as he walked with him to the corpse.

"Male, thirty five, to forty, wearing Mac's coat and jacket," listed Flack with a professional tone.

Danny stopped as he shot a stunned look at Flack. "A set up?"

"Don't know yet. But it's weird though," agreed Flack.

Danny shook his head. Yeah, since the beginning, things didn't make a lot of sense, like Mac leaving without telling them where he was going for starters. This wasn't going to be easy, he thought as he crouched near the black, body bag and unzipped it.

_**xxx**_

She sighed one more time. It had been two hours since Mac had been wheeled inside the ICU and nobody had come out to tell her about his condition. She couldn't suppress the gloom feeling of fear that had settled inside her heart, fearing the moment the doctor would step out of surgery. _He's gonna be okay, _repeated her mind. _You know him, he's gonna be okay._ She sighed deeply as if her breath could wipe out this fateful day and help her to wake up. But it didn't work. She was still sitting in this bright waiting room, holding on the faint hope that Mac wasn't a man to yield to anything even to death.

A few minutes ago, Danny and Flack had arrived, and since then, she hadn't been waiting alone anymore. As none of them were in the mood to speak, the waiting room had then remained quietly dead. Danny stood up suddenly.

"Coffee?" he asked softly, his face showing sign of his long tiring day.

"No thanks, Danny," she answered, her throat too tight to swallow anything.

He nodded and then glanced at Flack. "Sugar?"

"Yeah, thanks Danny," mumbled Flack, his eyes focused on Stella.

Just before they arrived at the hospital, they had decided, that one of them would always stay with Stella, at least until Mac came out of surgery. It wasn't that they thought that she wasn't strong enough, no. In fact, he and Danny had not really talked about it, besides a quick glance in the car. It was more like a feeling, a need to be there. The team and Mac and Stella, had been more like a family for them and when your family was hurt, then, you just tightened your bond to be sure that everyone would make it okay. So, for Flack and Danny, being there for Stella was just as simple as being there for their sister. He leaned his head against the back of the chair and quietly watched the young CSI hobbling down the hall in search of a vending machine. Whatever happened, they'd stick together.

As Danny disappeared around the corner of the hallway, the doors of the ICU opened for a doctor in blue scrubs who walked toward them. Tall, in his mid fifties, he swiftly made his way toward the waiting room. His hazel eyes wandered from the golden haired woman already walking toward him, and three men sparsely sat in the blue plastic chairs.

"Is there any family member for Mister Taylor?" he asked his sight going through the tired faces.

"Yes... I mean..." rambled Stella as she neared the doctor, her heart racing in anticipation on Mac's whereabouts. She had tried to read the doctor's face and learn if Mac was going to be okay, but he hid it well behind his thin glasses and his short, salty beard. "I'm Detective Bonasera, Detective Taylor's partner How is he?" she asked, trying to contain her fear.

The doctor nodded as he looked at her and Flack, who had joined Stella. "Detective Taylor is okay for now, and with plenty of rest and help I'm sure he'll pull through this. I'm doctor Shen, his physician."

Stella let out her breath and felt her shoulders relaxing instantly at the word okay. But then, her brows furrowed as the other words hit her. "What do you mean 'pull through this'?" Now, that didn't sound good, she thought as her heart began to hammer loudly in her chest.

The doctor locked his eyes with hers before he let out a loud sigh. "Well, your partner has some nasty burns from hypothermia," he began to list. "Internal bleeding that we managed to treat as we extracted the bullet and a very bad concussion from a bump on the left side of his head. We suspect the latter is the cause of his troubles right now."

She breathed slowly, looking down at her hands and swallowing the news of his injuries. _A bullet._ _Mac had been shot. Someone had tried to kill him._ She felt the weight of despair pressing heavily on her shoulders. _But who? And for what reason? And what did he mean by 'troubles'? _

She raised a worried look. "What troubles?" she asked, almost afraid to know. "I know he had troubles recognizing me on the phone, but so did I. There was a lot of interferences and I..."

Dr Shen shook his head, immediately stopping Stella. "Although his life is not in danger anymore, we think Detective Taylor is suffering from what we call PTSD. It's short for...Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's a state of shock... common among military personnel when they're back from the field or for people leaving close to a dangerous situation." He stopped, leaving some time for Stella and Flack to digest the information. "Although it remains to be confirmed with more tests, his initial behavior, when we assessed his conditions, and the statement you gave to the ME in the ambulance, about his probable memory loss, lead us to believe that he may suffer from PTSD."

Her eyes widened in fear._ Mac suffering from PTSD. No way. He's too strong for that._

"We're not sure if it's due to the added trauma on his head or the long hypothermia, or even something else, as PTSD can be caused by a lot of stressing situations or events, but right now, Detective Taylor presents some of the symptoms to fit into this category, I'm sorry."

She closed her eyes. _Traumatic events... _Did she play a role in all of this? _Oh God._

"What he needs right now," continued Dr Shen, "is all the help you can get for him. I mean, his memory isn't going to work as before, so you might have to be very patient and understanding with him. Then, as he'll progress, you will be able to tell him more about the things that he had forgotten. But even then, he might have some hard setbacks." He warned them.

Flack remained quiet. The news had hit him as much as it had probably hit Stella. _Well, maybe not as much,_ he thought as he glanced at Stella. She wasn't talking, just listening and nodding from time to time. Her hands were tightly wound together and squeezed a little more every time the doctor was adding a precaution they would have to take with Mac. He sighed. This was hard news, and although he was more than happy that his friend had made it out of surgery, the news of PTSD was still hard to swallow. He looked at Stella; this was going to be hard on her too.

She nodded as she continued to listen to the doctor's recommendations. At least he's alive, her mind repeated over and over. _He's alive, that's all that matters. We'll get you through this, Mac._

"I think, the sooner he can get out of here and start rebuilding his life would be the best," said Dr Shen. "But I would advise that he doesn't remain alone, at anytime. His wounds should allow him to be released in two or three days but only if someone can vouch for him and make sure he doesn't strain himself."

Flack and Stella exchanged a concerned glance. _Mac, staying in one place, and resting without working. Yeah right._ Even with his memory messed up, they could bet he would be working the next day.

"I'll take care of him," said Stella, as she looked at the doctor with determination.

"Good, then I'm going to need you to come with me to sign some papers," he replied as his arm pointed toward the ICU. "I'll have a prepared list of drugs for you to give him with things that he should avoid at all cost, and instructions to help him progress with his condition."

"Can I see him?"she asked, eager to see that he was okay with her own eyes.

"Well, he's still under the drugs from surgery and for now I would advise few visitors," Dr Shen replied, glancing at Flack. "I think it would be best if I could brief you first as there might be some situations or subjects to avoid as well."

She frowned and looked at Flack.

"I'll wait for Danny," he said, reading her unspoken question.

"Thanks, Don."

"Just call me when you're done," but by the look he saw in her eyes, he knew she wasn't going to leave Mac's room anytime soon. "Or if you stick here," he corrected. "I guess I'll take Danny home," he finished. _Yeah, she's not leaving._

She nodded before she followed Dr Shen to the ICU, hoping that he wasn't about to bring her more bad news.

_**xxx**_

It has been some long, tormenting minutes while Dr Shen had explained to her how they had come to the conclusion that he was suffering from PTSD. Besides the physical traumas, it had become clear for them and before the surgery, that his mind had suffered as he had woken up, delirious in the ER. Then, Dr Shen had explained what she could expect about his conditions.

More than the physical injuries, she would have to be very careful with his mental sanity, though, she wasn't in foreign ground, it was Mac; the man wasn't the kind to open up when things turned bad. And now, she wondered if she would have the strength to help him, without giving away some bits of his painful past. This was so unfair to keep him out from what had made him, though, she had prayed many times that he hadn't suffered that much in his past. And yet, his past, as troubled and painful that it was, had made him the man he was now, or that he should be, she corrected.

But with the doctor's recommendations and things she had to avoid, she felt, somehow, as if she was about to betray him. She was going to ask him to trust her, while she would keep things from him. She sighed. She had to be doomed. _Come on,_ in less than a day she had come from best friend, to hurt him, and now a patented liar. She swallowed the knot in her throat. Where were they going like that? If they got out of all this, sane and alive, then she would have to start to believe in God. _Have faith in Mac, Stell_. She followed the nurse to his room and closed her eyes. _He might not even remember me. _She moaned quietly. _At least he's alive, _she whispered. _He's alive._

The nurse stopped in front of a white door with the number 33. _Gee, don't tell me it's just a coincidence,_ she mumbled looking at the number with gloom. The nurse turned toward her, her eyes full of understanding.

"Do you want me to introduce you and stay?" as she felt Stella's nervousness creeping up with each seconds.

_You, introduce me to Mac? H__ell, no. If I can't do it now, what about tomorrow and the day after? _She took a deep breath trying to relax her shoulders.

"I'll be fine. Thank you."

The nurse nodded. "He's still under the medication and might not be awake," she said, and as Stella nodded quietly, she headed back to the ICU, leaving her staring at the blank door.

Stella contemplated the number for a moment, her hand resting on the handle, unable to make a conscious move. _Come on, Stell, it's just Mac. Your best friend, the one you would give your life for, without blinking._ She took a deep breath and pushed the door. _One small step... _She thought,_ yeah, and one giant leap into faith and the troubled world of Mac Taylor. _Her mind shoutedas she let out a deep sigh, her heart pounding in her chest. When the door opened, she found the strength to push her fears away. _I'm doing this for you, Mac. _She had expected him to be sound asleep, or just the opposite, totally awake and waiting eagerly to get out of this hospital, but frankly, she wasn't prepared for what she found.

His head resting on the side, had softly sunk into a fluffy, white pillow and made her believe that he was asleep. So, without checking more, she sat quietly in the chair beside his bed. Her eyes fixed on the crook of his neck, she gazed at the pulsing vein on his neck, lingering in the fact that he was alive; she had found him on time. That's then that she noticed that his eyes were open; his head turned toward the window, he wasn't moving, no, just looking at the night bathed by the city's gleaming light. A flash came before her eyes; him, leaving his office, a look of defeat and deep sorrow painted over his face. She closed her eyes as she felt a pang of regret surging from her heart being torn inside.

Mac stared at the obscurity lurking behind the window, it was hard to focus, though the only thing that danced on his mind right now was that little statement;_ it's over_. In the end, the cops had saved his ass, until they make it official with an arrest which should arrive quickly. He was alive, period, but his life, his memory, wasn't back. And frankly, he didn't think he wanted it back. He just wanted to be left alone as a feeling of gloom still weighed heavily inside his chest. He had escaped to the darkness, and as a daredevil,he had come close to having never woken up, though, somehow, he had hanged on long enough for someone to find him, and there he was.

Although, he had left the darkness in that damn basement, he couldn't feel any comfort at being here. His past would not be erased, and his future, well, for that, he trusted that woman to take charge of it for him. He sighed, his eyes still staring at the window.

Then, his deep, raking voice filled the silent room, startling Stella.

"You've come to arrest me, right?" he croaked, his voice more a complaint as he kept staring outside.

She tensed at the affirmation, and frowned. She hadn't really expected him to still think about that, though, it was logical. But somehow, Mac was Mac in her heart, and she hadn't really expected to see him in another way despite his condition and Shen' warnings. _Oh Mac. _It broke her heart that he could think like that of himself. _My God, it's __gonna be a long road, but I will be there for you._

She cleared her throat before talking. "No. I'm not here to arrest you."

She wanted to yell at him for making such harsh assumptions, and tell him that he was a good man, a cop that saved lots of lives, her best friend, and that he was going to be alright, that she would take care of everything. And most of all, she wanted to tell him that she was sorry, and take him in her arms, hug him strongly and never let him go. But instead, she sighed; Dr Shen had clearly stated that she could only reveal what he asks for, and even then, some parts of his past had to remain buried until he found them by himself. _Damn rules,_ her mind screamed. _It's only this way that he can recover safely,_ had said Dr Shen. _Yeah right,_ _'safely', as if Mac had always done things in the safest way when it came to being about his life._ But she had agreed to follow these instructions, and now she was stuck.

"Right, you want to make sure you got a piece of me before," he said, breaking her thoughts as he let out a tired breath and turned a tormented gaze to her.

She bit her lower lip at the view of the deep pain gleaming in his eyes. She could see the traces of the deadly fight he had engaged with sleep in that cold basement as dark shadows marked his face under his eyes. Although, she could bet he was still fighting it, as she noticed his weak blinking, his eyelids obviously becoming heavy and drooping lightly with each second. And with the drugs still in his system and the weariness draining his body, he wasn't about to win this time.

"None of that," she replied, trying to hide the tormented emotions that were racking her brain, shaving the urge of touching him, to be sure that she wasn't dreaming.

A deep crease carved his forehead, she was holding up something he could swear as he noted her tired posture bent toward his bed, and the deep shadow hidden behind in her emerald eyes.

"So... what are you doing here?" he asked. _Sure, as if she was going to forget about her partner's death and let me walk away from it._ He looked at her gleaming, green eyes, and mentally sighed. If it had been in another life, he would have loved to know her on another level.

"Well, I'm here to help you, to get your memory back," she dropped, her eyes locked in his. Was it hope that she had just seen flickering in his eyes before vanishing so quickly?

"A statement? You gotta be kiddin'. As if I was going to give you the rope to hang me," he snorted with anger.

He tried to sit, pushing on his hands, but failed miserably as his body didn't obey him, and thanks to the woman beside him and her hand swiftly pressed on his chest, he fell back to the bed. He remained still, the drugs had cut any sensation in his body as he felt numb. He breathed hard as beads of sweat ran down his temples and to his neck as this small effort had taken away his last bits of energy. Drained, his eyes locked with the green, emerald eyes before him and remained trapped inside them as he swallowed. He saw her green fields searching some answers inside his. But he had none, so he avoided her stare and glanced at the door instead; his only exit. But considering his current shape, he knew that he was no match to her if she wanted to stop him, and that wasonly if he could manage to get out of his bed, without passing out first. He sighed as he felt the last remnants of his strength quickly leaving him. Soon he'd fall into sleep, then, the cops and that woman, would be able to cuff him to his bed, and he would be trapped again.

Stella's heart broke when she caught the glimpse of uncertainty in the depth of his green, ocean eyes. _He doesn't trust me. _But she couldn't blame him, especially after what she had told him on the phone, and his quick glance at the door was meaningful enough to understand his intention. If he hadn't been sedated, he would have tried to escape. _God, Mac. _She had to stop all of this before it went really wrong.

"What? You want me to say?" his voice broke her thoughts, her hand still lingering on his chest. "That I killed your friend, the cop, over there. Because I..." he took a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

His face looked in pain. But she realized it wasn't from the fear of what could happen to him, no, Mac Taylor had never been worried about his own fate, no, it was because of what he thought he had done; killed a man.

"You don't remember, right?" she cut nervously. _Damn it,_ this cat and mouse game was gonna kill her. _Come on Mac, ask me the right thing._

He eyed her for a second before the interrogation settled in his green, ocean eyes and turned into a suspicious look.

"How do you know?" his voice was low, still raking his scorched throat every time he talked.

_Finally,_ "Well, because I know you haven't killed my friend," she stated simply.

He smirked, his eyes staring at her with amazement. "How can you be so sure?" his eyes sparkled, daring her to try a witty reply.

"Because, you, are my friend," she stated, anxiously watching his reaction.

If she was right, sooner or later, the real Mac was going to kick in inside his brain and things would return to normal. But until then, Dr Shen had been really clear that it would take some time before he could be back to who he was, if he ever did. She swallowed, hope was all that remained right now.

"I'm..." he looked at her, stunned. He couldn't believe her. "How...I mean..." he swallowed the information. _No, it's a trick!_ His mind shouted unable to believe her. _She's trying to lead you in some kind of trap, probably to get a confession or something she could use against you._

"Your name is Mac Taylor, and we are friends," she stated, simply.

"Friends? But the body... and the cop's badge. The..." He didn't know where to start as a package of questions invaded his tired mind. _What if she's saying the truth?_

"The badge was yours, Mac. And obviously, the body is someone else."

_Oh God_, her mind uttered in joy as she could finally use his name without being filled with dread or painful images of his probable death. She played with delight as his name brushed softly on her lips and let the sweet feeling linger a bit while her tensed shoulders began to relax. _He's alive, that's all that matters. _She watched him as his forehead wrinkled deeply, obviously racking his brain to find a clue that would confirm she was telling the truth. He looked so tired and pale, and with the small, dark spots painted under his eyes, he looked like he could use a month of sleep.

_Trap, _his mind yelled. He swallowed as he locked his tired eyes into hers.

"Why can't I remember?" If she was telling the truth, then he should be able to remember something, anything.

She sighed, okay here comes the subject she had to be careful with.

"Your doctor said it might be due to different things, mostly the bump on your head is a start. They're not really sure though." She looked at the night behind the window, avoiding his enquiring stare. She couldn't tell him all the things that the doctor had told him to avoid. And it made her nervous to have to hold back information from her best friend. Then, she looked back at him. "But he's very confident that, with some help, you should be back to your old self in no time," she finished on a positive note. Mac was a fighter. If he thought he could win he would win. She wasn't about to tell him the harsh prognostic that Dr Shen had given her.

"And what is my old self?" he enquired, curious. This was taking a weird turn. _Me, a cop. _Was it real? Could he really be what he had wanted to be in this damn hole? And what about her avoiding his sight like that. What was she holding back?

_Mac, Mac. _Another sensitive subject. _Gee, _she pondered how long she would be able to hold on by not answering truly with questions like these. She cupped his right hand with hers, locking his tired eyes with hers.

"You're a good man, Mac, and a well known cop striving for truth and to protect New York City,"_ as long as it's not a stressful subject, and after he asked, you can tell him, _spoke Dr Shen's voice in her head.

"A cop?" he asked with a faint grin grazing his lips.

She smiled happy to see some small joy returning behind his sparkling, green, ocean eyes.

"Yes, a cop and one of the best in New York City."

His grin widened. "Alright, what else do I need to know?" he asked now eager to know more about himself. Maybe there was finally a light at the end of the tunnel.

Slowly, she watched as with the time he was more and more fighting the healing sleep that weighed heavily on his eyelids. She kept her smile on her lips, not wanting him to realize she had to hide some information from him. God this wasn't going to be easy. "Well, for the moment, the best thing you need to know is rest. We'll talk more tomorrow."

She gently rubbed his fingers, happy to find they were a bit warmer than when she had found him. Although, he's natural body heat wasn't really back._ It will take a day at least,_ had said Dr Shen, _for him to feel warm._

He looked at her, a strange shadow behind the gleaming turquoise of his eyes. The warm touch of her fingers grazed at his skin. It was hard to start to trust when you couldn't remember who you were. But the way she stroked his hand like she was doing right now, made him nervous and his mind wandered as flashes of bodies lying on curbs and different floors appeared before his eyes. And among all these images of death and sorrow, she was there, sometimes holding a small flashlight and lighting something on the floor while speaking, and sometimes just grinning wickedly to him. So, he really knew her, he realized. She wasn't lying. His eyes pierced behind the green emerald of hers as he tried something he wanted since he had heard her entering his room. He needed to know if he was right.

"Stella?" his voice croaked not sure if it was the right word to say.

But a deep, joyful smile lighting her face, achieved to convince him of her identity. He smiled back, indulging himself in the beautiful picture in front of him. Maybe there was hope for him after all.

She couldn't tell him the explosion of joy that she felt bursting inside when he called her by her name. _He hasn't forgotten me,_ she thought, with a hint of pride. Not able to contain her joy any longer, she sat carefully on the side of his bed and wrapped her arms around him, letting her forehead rest on his shoulder.

"Welcome back, Mac, welcome back," her warm breath whispered to his ear as she tightened her hold on him, careful not to disturb his dressings or stitches. He was finally back to her.

_...TBC

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**A/N:** Well, this one didn't end with a cliffie, but don't get used to it, . So now, you can review and tell me what you thought of this.


	8. Down to a dented road

**A/N: **Well, sorry guys for the delay, I had a lot to catch up, but here it is, chapter 8, the longest chapter ever, lol. Again, thanks to all of you who put this story in their alert list or as a favorite, or favorited me. Many thanks to all who wrote me a review, you guys you're making my day every time you're writing those kind comments, so really thanks, you guys rock.

And to Bladraggon189, my so wonderful beta friend who managed to fix my mistakes even with all the work she has on her shoulder, so thanks Liz.

**Warning: **From now on, you may find Mac is a bit OOC, well then, I'll ask you to bear with me as it's part of the story.

**Summary:** A man finds a body. When he picks up the ID in the coat, it reads "Detective first grade Mac Taylor". Is Mac really dead? What will Stella do when she'll learn the news? Angsty Smacked...with the whole team.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, beside the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

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He opened his eyes to find himself in the same white, hospital room as when he'd first woken up. Slowly, his sight wandered into the room, going to the gleaming monitors on his left and to the door in front of him. Then, his sight stopped on the golden, curly ball of hair nestled over his right hand. He frowned, remembering what had happened last night; her, Stella, hugging him when he had pronouncedher name. He sighed; sure he had recognized her, in truth, he had never forgotten her as her somehow blurred image had remained burned in his mind even in the deep, freezing, black hole he had been trapped.

He swallowed the deep lump lodged in his throat. What had he done? He remembered her name right, but he wasn't feeling anything for her, and the way she hugged him last night made him wondered if there was anything more than a simple friendship between them. He let out a deep breath when he felt the beginning of a headache crawling into his neck and setting place behind his eyes. How could he tell her that? How could he tell her that he didn't feel a thing? Not for her, nor for anyone? That he knew her name but that was all.

He looked out the window. The sun was already up and shining brightly its golden rays into his room, melting the small ice on the bottom corners of the window. Seeing Stella's eyes gleaming with hope had been a tearing moment. Should he tell her that he only remembered her name and some confused images but nothing else? It was like she was expecting so much from him that it scared him. His identity remained a blurry wreck of screaming and heart wrenching images for him as if someone had laid a thick veil over his past. But if she was right, yesterday, he had something to begin with; a cop? A shy smile displayed over his lips. Funny how when you asked for something, sometimes life made it happened. Although, in his case, it hadn't appeared from thin air, he was this cop, Mac Taylor, that she talked about. Unfortunately, even if the name rang a bell, he was far from remembering his past life, though he did remember talking to her in various places but that was all.

His tensed gaze looked beyond the towers behind the window and into the shining sun; he had a lot to catch up. Raising his left hand, he brought it up to his forehead and rubbed slightly at the stitches; a small bump was protruding beneath it. A dull throbbing echoed in his head as soon as he touched the bruise, and he shut his eyes under the pain. His hand rubbed tiredly at his face. When he finally opened them, it was to look at a pair of dazzling, emerald eyes staring at him with worry.

"I'm okay," he whispered before she started to ask. He didn't know why but it felt like a reflex to toss that answer to her.

"Oh yeah, you look fine," she dropped bitterly, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest, obviously not convinced at his statement.

_Whatever,_ he wasn't about to start to argue for something like that, and he got the feeling that she could be a real pain in the neck when she wanted to. Taking a deep breath, he avoided her stare and rose on his elbows, trying to sit; he was tired of lying like some kind of cripple. But he realized too late that he had been a bit too confident as a hot, flaring pain exploded in his right side, burning his chest, setting his body on fire. The muscles of his neck stiffened under the shooting pain and his forehead was quickly beaded in sweat. He felt dizzy and nauseous, breathing loudly before he felt a firm hand pressing gently on his chest to lie back down. Too tired, he looked up and met her unyielding, green gaze, and lost himself in the green fields unable to resist to her slight pressure, letting her guide him back to the comfort of his bed.

"Mac," her soft voice echoed in the room. "You should know better than to try to move with a bullet hole in your side." She gave him a weary smile. It was obvious that he was hurting, and she couldn't help but wince as he had tried to sit wearily. Always doing his best to hurt himself even when he didn't remember who he was.

He swallowed, his breath coming in short rasps now, his eyes still locked with hers. To his surprise, she pressed on a button and the top of his bed was slowly lifted with a mechanic sound until he was in a sitting position. This time he could see a bit more of his room without twisting his neck or hurting his fresh wounds.

"Next time, ask," she continued, trying to display a small smile. _Just ask, I'll always be there._

He nodded silently, his eyes sill locked with hers. It was amazing how he couldn't leave the gleaming light sparkling behind the green fields of her eyes. _That's weird. _Then, his coarse, grating voice broke the silence as he tried to speak to thank her, but instead, he ended up in a deep, wrenching cough. A burning itch in his throat sent tremors to his back and chest, re-awakening the pain everywhere in his body.

Bent in two, he heard Stella through his loud coughs whisper a _hold on,_ before a glass of water appeared miraculously in front of him. His hands shaking a bit, he managed to cup the glass and gulp avidly at the water. Immediately, he felt grateful as the cold liquid soothed his burning throat with delight, and he let out a faint cough. Then, the fire finally subsided and she took back the glass from his shakings hands.

"Better?" she asked a bit nervous as she saw him quivering. _The feeling of cold won't leave him before a few days, _echoed Dr Shen's words. She bit her lower lip as she laid the glass on his nightstand, and stared at his frail body.

"Yeah, thanks," he replied after another weak cough this time. "I guess...I'm not gonna sing anytime soon," he joked, trying to lighten the too silent atmosphere.

"I guess not," she replied, a deep crease carving her forehead. The sound of his grating voice echoed in her mind as she recalled the harsh words she had told him on the phone, guilt nestling inside her chest. How could she have not recognized him?

His blue eyes met hers still staring at him, a shadow lingered in her eyes before he glanced back at the window, avoiding her further looks of worry. There was something with this woman that he couldn't understand, something mysterious about her, and although he didn't feel a thing because of his buried past, her way to stand beside him was enough to make him tensed, but he didn't know why.

"So what else can you tell me?" he asked, leaning his head back on the fluffy pillow and shutting his eyes for a second, as he tried to calm the throbbing headache still hammering behind his eyes.

Stella watched him, her worries more evident when he closed his eyes. Mac had rarely shown her when he was drained and today was among the few times she had really seen him this tired. She bit her lower lip as she stared at the dark, purple bruise coloring his skin over his left temple, making it clearly hard to distinguish the black row of stitches continuing under his damp hair. Her stomach churned however at the dark bags carved under his eyes, proofof his deadly fight for survival the day before. She sighed, grateful they had found him on time.

Hearing no answers from Stella, Mac opened his eyes to find her staring at him, again, but this time her look was bearing the lingering shadow of dread and fear. He frowned trying to shave away the awkwardness of the situation. "So..." he began, trying to pull her from her dark thoughts, "we're partners, right?"

A smile grazed at her lips as she sat back in her chair. "You remember?" She couldn't help but hope that all the stuff about Mac's conditions and the PTSD had been a mistake; that Shen was wrong, but her hopes quickly faded as Mac shook his head with a silent no.

"Just deduced it from the way you talked about him...I mean... me... on the phone." _Yeah,_ he had to get used to it now, after all, he, was him. He smirked at the crazy thought.

Her face suddenly changed into an expression of deep pain, as his words brought her back to her harsh words spoken out of anger and fear for him. He could have died with those angry words as the last thing she had told him. And still now, she could see in his eyes how it was still hurting him, not trusting her. She couldn't be angry after him for being mad at her for it.

"I didn't know, I'm sorry, Mac. Your voice was so..." She sighed, how could she explain to her best friend that she hadn't recognized him, interferences or not, she should have. She should have believed he would find a way.

"Nah, it's fine. I got the same problem, so...we're partners?" he asked again, not sure why she was always reluctant to answer his questions.

She swallowed and gazed at his pale face, trying to catch what was so odd about him. Of course the fact he didn't remember was a part of it, but it seemed like there was something else he was hiding. Seeing him waiting for an answer, she shook the idea and opened her mouth to speak.

"Yes, we're partners."

"And..." he wondered, his forehead creasing to her short answer. _Do I have to ask her everything to get a straight answer? _

"Well, what do you want to know?" she repeated again, trying not to give up things that, according to his doctor, he wouldn't be prepared to hear.

He sighed, okay if he had to ask her he would, but really he was beginning to be annoyed to ask, and he felt his frustration building up already.

"Since when do we know each other? What exactly do I do as a cop? You know, just tell me everything you know." He encouraged her, hoping she got the hint.

She looked at him, before she carefully answered, hoping he wasn't going to respond badly to her answer. "We've been friends for ten years and for the rest, your doctor said it would be better for you to retrieve your memory by yourself, at your own pace."

"Says the person who knows everything about her past and mine..." he bitterly finished.

He sighed. "Yeah, always easier to say that when you're on the other side with all the answers, while, I, remain inside the thick fog, probingemptiness," he huffed, unhappy.

He wouldn't get any real answer from her he realized, sadly. Suddenly, he felt angry and more alone than ever, even in that damn cold hole he had hope, but if freedom meant people looking at him while he was struggling to find clues about his past, what good did it do to him to have friends like her? What good did they all think they were doing by keeping things from him? He needed answers and all they could provide was more blank walls. _F__riends,_ he bitterly thought,_ they should be there for you when you need them, not leaving you to stare at the wreck your life has turned into._

His pained expression hit her hard. "I'm sorry Mac, I didn't want to hurt you. I..." She looked down as the image of his defeated face from their previous argument appeared before her eyes to haunt her, her heart pounding behind her temples.

"He doesn't matter anyway," he lied, seeing the hurt on her face and trying to swallow the boiling rage soaring through his gut. "I guess, I just got to get use to it right?" He admitted, as he tried to put a brave face, but with the stitches biting into his flesh, all he managed was to get a weary smile. "Not that bad really." He added, still staring at her, waiting for her to get back to normal. Although after a moment, seeing she was still lost in her deep, hurting thoughts, he bit his lower lip and sighed. She should be somewhere else than waiting for an angry bastard to recover his memory, her boss would probably be mad at her for sticking with him so long. _Okay time to let her go._

"Listen, I didn't want to hurt you or bug you," he began, hoping she would take the excuse as it came to his mind. "I got that you probably have other things to do then stick to my bed waiting for me to remember things I might never do..." his voice trailed off, and his eyes caught a strange shadow in her eyes. _Is it fear?_ He shook the idea, it was too late anyway, now he really wanted to be alone, and she should really leave before he lost control of his own anger. "So, I guess it would be better if you leave and let me some time to remember on my own." _Since you can't provide me with any real answers,_ his tired brain shot.

She looked up, stunned by what he had just said. Did Mac Taylor just kick her out of his room? Was he shelling back sooner than what she had expected? _Don't do that to yourself, Mac,_ she pleaded. _Don't push me away. _

"I can stay, I don't..." a knot formed in her throat at the thought of leaving him alone, again, her hands tightening together. But her fear was getting real as each of his words was spoken aloud.

"It's okay, it's better for me anyway, and you probably have better things to do..." His voice trailed off as he took a slow breath and looked out the window, avoiding her pain stare.

_Better? _Her mind shot sadly,_ how can anything be better than staying with my wounded friend? _"Mac..."

"Just drop by later if you have a minute," he cut her off. "And maybe I'll remember some stuff that I will be able to compare with you then." He lay down comfortably and closed his eyes, it was time to let her go. "I'm a bit tired," he said, using it as an excuse to let her go. "See you later."

"Mac, I..." but she couldn't finish, as the lump had now invaded her entire throat and she couldn't talk anymore.

The image of him leaving his office the day before hit her hard, and she was unable to speak, air having deserted her lungs. _I hurt him again,_ she thought, as she slowly rose onto her feet, her heart beating hard in her chest, her hands trembling slightly. She stared, bemused at his pale face, his eyes now shut. She couldn't do anything else but comply with his wishes. Dr Shen had strongly advised her against any kind of emotional stress as it could trigger a setback, and arguing was on the top of the very bad things to do list. But this, she hadn't prepared herself for it. She swallowed, her breath short.

"I...I...sorry," she mumbled as her legs slowly drove her to the door, sorrow filling her soul. As she glanced back at him, looking asleep, sank into the white sheets, she cursed herself for being so helpless when he needed her, before she opened the door and exited with trembling footsteps.

"I...I'll see you later," she whispered totally lost as the door closed behind her. After all that had happened, she hadn't been able to reach to him. _How can it be? Am I losing my best friend?_

Silently, he opened his eyes and watched the door being shut. He sighed, he knew that he should feel something; sorry, maybe ashamed for what he did, or at least guilty for telling her off like that, but it didn't really matter. He was too empty inside and nothing seemed to fill that void; no joy nor pain. Turning his head to the window, he stared at the sun now covered with grey, angry clouds, the sky getting ready for another round of snow. Well, he would apologize to her later, just to make sure she hadn't taken that too bad. He smirked, though there was nothing to be sorry for anyway. If she was his friend, she should understand that he needed some space too, he thought as his anger soared suddenly and erupted in his mind in a chaos of images and sickening screams.

He wanted to shout, and yell at the people he could see running in his mind, ask them who they were and what was happening. He wanted to get the hell out of here and out of this hospital too, but he knew he was still too weak for that. He let out a tired breath as the images slowly faded, leaving him alone with his rage and sorrow, his fists clenched at his sides. Blinking through the bead of sweats running from his forehead, he stared bitterly at the blank ceiling over him. Then finally, after an hour and half of tossing and turning restlessly in his bed, awaking his wounds in the process and racking his brain for answers about his own identity that never came, he finally gave in to exhaustion. He was about to fall asleep too tired to think as a wrenching pain had settled everywhere in his body, when the door of his room was pushed open and two nurses came in; a young, tall, dark haired male and an old blond lady saluted him.

"Hello Detective Taylor. How are you feeling today?" The female nurse asked.

"Like someone who doesn't remember a thing," he replied angrily, his eyes blinking at the heavy sleep weighing on his tired eyelids.

"Aw, I see," replied the nurse with a smile. "Someone's grumpy today."

He huffed, "doesn't change the situation anyway."

"You're right, but don't worry, I'm sure it will come back to you in time, and that's why we're here. Dr Shen wants us to run some tests. Are you ready to go for a tour?"

He gave her a tired smile. "Do I have the choice?" he asked, not really sure he wanted to know the answer.

She nodded, almost scolding him like a child.

_Great._ Now, even the nurses were going to be mad at him. He sighed, trying to calm the uncontrolled, harsh anger still boiling inside him. He tried to focus on the fact that he was going to leave this cold room, and somehow, the perspective of seeing other things finally got the better of him, and he felt his anger slowly fade away. He mumbled a small sorry to the nurse as he tried to sit, but she was faster than him and she gently pushed him back against the pillows.

"No detective," she cut. "You're not leaving this bed. We'll be your drivers for today."

He sighed as his throbbing head fell back, sadly, onto the fluffy pillow. _So much for some action._ _Tests. _That wasn't fun. He took a long breath as he nodded toward the nurses.

"Well, then, let's go," she said as she and her friend began to wheel him out of his room. As they passed the doors, he noticed the two police officers standing before his door, but, too tired he didn't make anything of it, and he lay back, sleep already starting to pull him away.

Blinking wearily, he stared at the ceiling moving over him and wondered if Stella would come back to see him and if this time she would tell him more about his past, but with the way he talked to her, he was afraid she wouldn't show up before next year. He pouted, if there was one thing he was almost sure, it was that he hated hospitals, and the moving, depressing, white ceiling over him wasn't really what he would have called a tour. He sighed.

"You know he's in good hands with us, officer," said one of the nurse as she turnedto the cop following them, drawing Mac's attention as his eyes had closed once again.

"Yes ma'am, I know. But I have my orders, and I'm not allowed to leave him alone at anytime," replied the young police officer as they all turned a corner, Mac being wheeled before the group.

"Who asked you to do that?" asked Mac through a grating voice, as he felt his body tensed and the rage back, angry that Stella didn't trust him enough to tell him about them.

If he was a cop as she told him, then, there was no reason for him to leave this hospital, so why the guards? And why not tell him? He felt his anger surge again. Well then, he had been right all along._ They're trying to set me up_, his mind screamed. _She lied since the beginning. I'm their prisoner. _He clenched his jaw as anger rose in his eyes.

"Detective Flack's orders, sir," answered the police officer.

_Flack._ The name seemed familiar but nothing came to his mind as he looked at the hallway full of nurses and doctors going one way and the other. He knew that right now he was in no condition to leave his bed and walk away from here, but maybe later after the test. If he could just sneak out and get rid of those cops. But for that he would have to avoid the medication he was on which was making him drowsy and weak. Then, maybe he'd have a chance to get to know the truth by himself. His fists tightened, thinking about Stella, if it was her real name. He felt betrayed, and alone. He had trusted her and she had lied to him. They weren't friends, she had played him all along, and he was defenseless against them. He swore he wasn't going to go down without a fight, as his fists clenched from the rage boiling inside him, his knuckles went white._ No._ He wasn't going to let them trap him that easily.

_**xxx**_

Her steps echoed like a deafening sentence in the hallway as she replayed this morning in her head, and sighed loudly. She stepped inside the elevator and her shoulders sagged as she leaned against the back wall, her eyes closed. Why did the things have to be so complicated with him? Again, their simple talk had turned into hurting both of them. She let out her breath and composed her professional face as the doors opened to the ME's office. Maybe Sid would have news about the ID of the mysterious man that they found with Mac. Hoping to change her mood, she walked toward the shining rows of autopsy tables as Sid was talking to his assistant. As he turned toward her, she faked her best smile and looked down at the body resting under a blue sheet.

"How's Mac?" enquired Sid, immediately, his face worried.

She flinched and lost her fake smile instantly. _Mac,_ she moaned mentally.

"He's recovering slowly," she dropped. Nobody beside her and Flack knew about the fact that he was suffering from PTSD, and his memory loss alone had already worried most of the lab. Furthermore, knowing Mac, he would probably prefer to keep things low, not wanting everyone to know about his condition. She shook her head. No, it was definitely a matter she preferred to keep for herself. Mac had enough already to cope with.

"I understand he doesn't remember us?" enquired, softly, Sid as he saw pain linger in her green, emerald eyes.

She nodded. "He's remembering a few things, but his doctor said we'll know more after he had run more tests." She let out a small sigh as her gaze wandered over the covered body under the blue sheet that could hold all the answers they needed.

"Knowing Mac, and how he has a hard head, they had to give him a hell of a blow to shake him like that," continued Sid with a smile, trying to light up her mood, but it didn't work and his face went back to being serious.

She closed her eyes a second before locking them into Sid's. "I don't know Sid, I was hoping you'd have something for me," she finished hoping to change the subject to a less painful one.

Sid put back his glasses on his nose. "Well," he said as he rolled the sheet to the body's waist. "I can tell you that our DOA is a male, thirty nine, not in good shape seeing his organs," he smirked as his chin pointed to a translucent bowl where he had set the body's liver. "If he hadn't died already I would have given him a few more years at best, seeing the amount of alcohol his organs were filled with."

"So, heavy drinker, huh?" she commented.

He nodded, and his hand pointed on a part behind the body's back as he lifted the body and showed a small tattoo, carved on the right shoulder. The small drawing represented a small Doberman jumping at the throat of a cop.

"Not a cop lover, I guess?" she smirked.

"It seems." Looked, sternly, Sid.

"COD?" she asked although she could bet the pole in his head had surely done the trick anyway.

"Well, it's not what you think if I may," he replied with a serious look as he totally removed the sheet and showed her a wound entering right under the heart. "Knife wound," stated impassibly Sid. "The blade entered through the large intestine," said Sid as he mimicked the movement of the blade with his hand. "It continued through the stomach to finally pierce the left ventricle right here." He showed her a point on a radio behind him. "He probably struggled for a minute before his heart stopped." His face lighted up suddenly. "It's quite a move indeed to enter the blade like this. Maybe he tried to attack Mac and I can't say I saw the guy on the field using his Marine tricks, but it sounds like an expert move to me."

"So he was killed, not on accident then." She stated with a stern look, her eyes glaring at the body before her. This man could have really tried to kill Mac. She swallowed silently as she felt her stomach churn at the thought of Mac having to kill to save his life as he had been alone. If only she could have been there for him. She looked up, trying to be casual with Sid as her thoughts were wandering in turmoil.

"Well, it appears like it," he said with a frown, not understanding why Stella hadn't agreed with his theory. They all knew Mac had a former training in killing skills as a Marine. Obviously, if their boss had to kill him, it had to be in self defense, so why Stella wasn't backing up his theory. Something was going on, and she wasn't about to let him know about it. He sighed silently but chose to ignore the question and continued. "But you see this," he added pointing at different scars marking the body's stomach, left side and continuing to his collarbone. "These are quite old. I'd said more than ten years at least."

She frowned. "So if he has been in a hospital for that we might have a record of it."

Sid shook his head. "I thought about that, since you found no valid prints to go with, but so far I haven't got any feedback from the main hospitals of New York."

She sighed, her right hand rubbing, unconsciously, her left shoulder.

"I'm sorry Stella," added Sid, as he gave her a worried glance. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine Sid. It's Mac who worries me." She frowned, scared would be a better word, she admitted to herself.

"That bad?" He lightly questioned.

She swallowed as she felt tears starting to wet her eyes, but with a deep breath, she was able to keep them at bay. "I'm just..." She frowned, not knowing how to say it clearly. "You know... It's so confusing sometime."

"Well, I'm sure that when he'll be back to his own self, he'll be glad you have stuck to him and helped him to get through this," Sid assured her with a reassuring smile.

She drew a deep breath. "I hope you're right, Sid."

He gave her his best smile. "You two are so alike, Stella."

She frowned, not sure of what the ME Chief meant by that.

He took off his glasses and let them hang around his neck before he gave a small sigh and locked eyes with hers. "When he's angry, you're angry. If you're sad, he's sad," he began. "When you're happy, well, I guess you got the picture?"

She nodded understanding now where he was going.

"Whatever happened to one of you, it hits the other as well. So I guess, it's gonna take some time before things are back to normal, but I've never seen the two of you let go the other, and since you two are alive, things can only go up and get back to normal eventually. I have no doubt about that."

"Thanks Sid," she said, feeling her fears starting slowly to fade. Sid was right, even if things were complicated, at one point she and Mac had always found a way to set things right. _So why not this time too? Because of the PTSD factor?_ _No,_ she should trust Mac. Even with his memory a wreck, she knew him. People don't change that easily. Well, she hoped, but then, she would be there for him. And as long as neither one of them was stranded alone, she would have faith in them. She shot a weak smile to Sid.

"Thanks," she repeated softly.

He smiled back. "Anytime."

She turned her heels, and headed to the elevator.

"Hey, you tell Mac we miss him," Sid called from behind her.

"I will Sid," she replied, walking with a new strength._ I will._

_**xxx**_

He looked at the window, his warm breath leaving a small humid cloud on the frosted glass. With this weather growing worse, and the snow pilingup outside, Tommy was going to be hard to keep in place, though he was sure of one thing; he wasn't going to pull a hike outside.

Martin turned toward his brother sitting in the couch, with a stern look. When their mother had died, she had asked him to keep an eye on him. Even if his mama had never approved his 'career choice', she wanted them to stay together, and Martin to take care of him. He sighed. She knew that Tommy would get in trouble in no time without anyone to calm his outbursts, and so he did get in trouble; the worst. The last couples of years, he had managed to be accused of vandalism, robbery and rape.

He closed his eyes, it had been quite tricky to bail him out after the rape story. Of course he had made sure the girl would not press charges against his brother, though with the beat he gave her, she had known better to comply or he would have killed her anyway. He smirked, remembering her scared face when she recognized him in her hospital room in Atlanta. Although he hadn't touched her that day, she had begun to break into tears at the only glimpse of his face, but he had quickly muffled her sobs as he hadn't wanted to draw attention of the cops on guard before her door. He smirked, those cops had been so pathetic. Dressed in scrubs, they had let him in without even a good look, which had played for him to impress the girl as she could see the nice protection the APDcould provide her.

A wicked smile spread over his lips. Then, without her testimony, Tommy had been released the next day. He had scolded his brother about his careless manner to leave a witness to charge him. Sure he, himself, wasn't a rapist, though he could indulge himself sometimes when he got an easy occasion with a poor, boozy girl, but his brother was just too stupid. Leaving the girl, alive, and able to talk was his big mistake. He sighed, thankfully he had been there to clean up the mess after Tommy, but sometimes he was really tired of cleaning up after him.

His glance went from his slouched brother in the old, weary couch to the noisy TV in front of him. So far, no news had talked about Taylor, and he wondered if the cops had finally found him. Even if they had put him MIA, they wouldn't release anything about him on TV until they'd have identified his body. He sighed, the boss wouldn't be pleased about the show then, but despite everyone learning Taylor was dead, the deal was done and the head of the crime lab wasn't gonna bother any of them anymore. He smiled. Taylor was the first step for him to crawl his way up. Now, if he played well, he could get closer to the boss and assure his place in the family. Yeah, Taylor had been a good thing for his future, no doubt about it. Now it was time for him to play another game.

_**xxx**_

Her gaze lost on the creamy tiles of the floor, Stella, strode toward Dr Shen's office, passing the busy nurses and doctors without a glance. Then, if she had looked up, she would have noticed the small frowns creasing the medical staff behind her, but right now she was too preoccupied for that; she had to talk to Mac's doctor. Okay, he had explained her about Mac's conditions and what could resultfrom it, and she had prepared herself for it, but her last talk with Mac and the way he had dismissed her wasn't him at all, and she wasn't sure what to think anymore. The talk with Sid had helped her to feel strong again, and she wasn't about to let any question about Mac go unanswered. No, she needed answers. If she wanted to be able to help him to go in the right direction, then, she needed some careful advice.

Stopping before the white, creamy door bearing the black stickers of Dr Shen's name, Surgeon, she took a deep breath and knocked. After hearing a muffled yes, she pushed the door open, revealing a small office, bathed in a dim light, the doctor was sitting behind his desk, a simple grey desk.

"Dr Shen? It's Detective Bonasera," she said, her hand still on the handle.

"Come in Detective, I was looking at your partner's results, please have a seat," he replied, his arm pointing at a chair before his desk.

She frowned at the mention of Mac's results. "How is he?" she asked quickly as she sat nervously before his desk.

The doctor ruffled through the file, the small dim light of his table lampbeaming directly on the blue files scattered on his desk, his lips were tight before he looked sternly at Stella. "I'm afraid I have to confirm my diagnostic, Detective. From what the results are showing us so far, it seems his body's going to heal without any sequel and that's a good news, but..." he paused, his gaze locking with Stella's. "But psychologically his mind is in a chaotic blur, right now."

Her heart stopped in her chest at these awful words. Until then, she had hoped Shen's diagnosis was wrong. She looked down at her trembling hands unable to make it stop. _Mac, in a blur, _her mind rambled in pain. _How could it be?__ The man with all the answers, her friend, her rock among the tumbling waters of life; lost in a maze of confusion._ She felt her walls crumbling around her, as she closed her eyes wearily. It was so unfair. She let out a heavy sigh as she looked up at Dr Shen. _Why him?_

"We kinda parted on wrong assumptions this morning..." she began, sorrow heavier now in her throat as she opened her eyes and looked at Dr Shen in misery. "I was wondering if..."

The doctor set back in his chair, releasing a small sigh, "Well considering his situation it's not surprising at all. I'm even amazed that you're not talking about sudden outbursts." His brows furrowed. "The nurses who came after you, described his behavior as grumpy, and edgy, though, he apologized afterwards, but you see, these kind of bursting temper are going to be more frequent until he has dealt with what's torturing his mind."

A deep crease carved her forehead. Mac had never acted like that, even though he could get angry sometime, he had never had any sudden outburst without a good reason.

"What can we do to avoid that?" she asked, with a hint of hope in her voice.

The doctor shook his head. "I'm afraid you're not gonna be able to control this. You may try to temper his outbursts when they come out or avoid them from time to time but those are even beyond his own will."

Worries wrinkled her face once more. "What do you mean beyond his own will? Mac has always been able to control himself. He..."

"Not anymore," cut off Dr Shen with a soft voice. "I'm sorry. He might try, but this, won't disappear until he can remember what triggered them. Until then, he'll be filled by an uncontrollable anger and rage coming from the traumatic events that unleashed his current condition."

She closed her eyes. Her friend, the most patient man in the world, being unable to control his anger? That couldn't be true. She shook her head, it couldn't be possible. _And yet, this morning,_ her mind reminded her, _he hadn't been really himself._

The doctor lowered his tone. "He's gonna need all the help you and his friends can provide, because if what you said about his general behavior is true, being patient and controlled, then this is going to be even more confusing for him."

She nodded slightly, thinking about what Sid had said earlier. _When you're hurt, he's hurt... if he's in pain, I'm in pain, _she added for herself. "I don't intend to back down. I'm here for him. Whatever it takes."

The doctor gave her a kind smile. "Good, then I can give you the rest of the process you'll have to follow. I'm sure with your help and this treatment, he should be able to find a way to get back to his old self." He saw Stella's face lighting up. "But I must warn you," he added, his face wearing a more serious look. "There are no simple ways, and it's going to be hard on him, and you as well if you stay with him. I can't give you a time frame, or even promise you that he would be back one hundred percent, but I surely can say that it's going to be a rough road for both of you." He sighed. "Does he have any relative that could come to help? I know I've asked you that yesterday, but it's very important, familiar faces help the recovery."

Stella thought for a moment, she could call his mother but with her heart condition and knowing Mac wouldn't agree with it, she decided against it. It wouldn't be a good idea anyway. Now, there was Reed, but the young man, even if he was like a son to Mac was in Europe with his adoptive parents and wasn't due in New York before the end of next week. She doubted that Mac would have agreed to call him for that, though she should at least give him a call to warn him what to expect when he would be back. Yes, she could do that. She sighed.

"No, there's no one he would agree to see right now." _Not even her or his team, _she added sadly.

"Alright then," Dr Shen concluded. He locked a professional stare with Stella. "I guess you're only confirming what he signed for."

She frowned, confused by Shen's words. "He signed?"

"Yes. It seems, Detective Taylor put you in his medical file as his next of kin in case of an emergency." The doctor raised a brow at the stunned Stella before him. "You didn't know?"

"I had no idea," she admitted. "He never talked about it." She let out a deep breath, relieved he had done that. _So, at least, he would have agreed to see me,_ her mind added with some joyful pride.

Somehow, it made things easier for her now. If Mac had already given her name, it was like an unspoken consentto stick with him in the worst storm of his life, even if it meant, him, being angry after her afterwards. Then, she'd do it. Another deep breath escaped her lips, more relaxed this time. _Thank you Mac, for trusting me. _A smile grazed her lips. This was the sign she needed to face him and whatever words would come from his mouth; she was assured now that it wouldn't be him. Being his next of kin was like a clear statement of what he thought of her, the faith he had placed in her. _I won't let you down Mac. No matter what, I won't let you down._

She looked up at Dr Shen. "What should I do next?"

The doctor turned toward her a sight full of understanding and admiration from the work that awaited her, before he nodded lightly. "Then, this is the list of his medication," he handed her a piece of paper with his prescription.

Silently, Stella listened carefully as Dr Shen listed his medication's schedule and the physical training he had to follow in order not to strainhimself too much, which could trigger a sudden outburst. Then, after half an hour of precise description of what could look like increase of his symptoms, she took her leave and headed to Mac's room. Her stern gaze stared back at the floor, wondering if his mood had improved since this morning, though this time, her firm steps reflected her determination to fight to death for him.

A few minutes later, she stood right before his door, nodded to the officers on guard and took a deep breath. Okay, _here we go, Mac._

She half pushed open the door and popped her head inside. Quickly, she caught sight of him lying quietly in his bed. His head was turned toward the window, visibly deep in thoughts or asleep, she wasn't sure. Anyway, she opted for him being asleep, and slunk not to awake him.

As she stopped near his bed, she noticed a faint twitch in the veins of his neck, and clenched her jaw. _This can't be good_. She had only seen him doing that a couple of times, and each time he had ended up shouting furiously, though it was for good reasons, but somehow, she felt that this time his wrath was going to be toward her. With the old Mac, she wouldn't have thought about what she might have done wrong, no, but she knew that her old Mac wasn't going to wake up before sometime now, and the only way to wake him up was to stand here and face whatever his tortured mind had come up with. Unconsciously, her body tensed, waiting for the blow, but as he didn't move nor acknowledge her presence, though she knew he was awake, she decided to initiate the talk. _The sooner you go for it, the sooner it will be behind us, right?_

"How do you feel, Mac?" she asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

A long silence followed her words as his sight remained stuck to the window. The silence should have helped her to feel relax, but instead her heart beat even harder in her chest, hammering madly behind her temples. Something was wrong. _Of course, something's wrong, he almost died, alone and thinking his life was a wreck,_ she scolded herself.

"I'm sorry for this morning, Mac," she dropped hoping this time he would judge her worthy to talk.

"I don't want to talk with you," he replied, anger simmering beneath his words.

She swallowed the blow as she noticed his face tensing under anger. "I... I understand your frustration and..."

"My frustration," he cut, his tone rising as he turned toward her an angry glare, his eyes sparkling dangerous daggers. "What about trust? Huh?"

"I..." She frowned, searching his eyes as he once again looked away, not leaving her any chance to connect with him. "I don't understand."

"Sure," he shot back, his eyes still staring at the window, but his body was stiffening under the controlled rage boiling inside him. "Thought you knew how to handle things for me, right?"

"What are you talking about Mac?" Now, she was really confused too. _What happened when I wasn't there? _Fear started to build up inside her chest as his heart monitor was showing the stress he was putting himself into, his heart line going up and down a bit too fast for her taste. But right now, she had no idea how to cool the burning rage that seemed to have settled place inside his mind. So she remained silent and let him vent out his anger towards her, until he was done, but it didn't come very fast as he seemed lost in his thoughts for a while.

_This is just too much,_ his mind blew. _How can she come here and scold me while she's stabbing me in the back?_ _Damn woman. _He had tried this morning to escape the nurses' attention, but each time the cops were still there. Sure, he could have tried to run, taking the stairs, but he wasn't sure if it was the drugs he was on or the loss of blood he had sustained, but when he had tried to stand on his own legs, he had felt his stomach heave in pain and had ended up in the bathroom, throwing up the small liquid breakfast they had given him this morning. He pouted at the thought. Linked to that damn IV pole and after gathering up twice his miserable, shaking body from the cold, bathroom floor; sicker and weaker than in the morning, he had decided to stick to his bed for the day. At least, tomorrow he should be able to try again, he hoped, and this time he would make sure that his body wouldn't be fueled with those drugs. He glanced at his IV pole, starting with that thing. So for the moment, he just needed Stella out of his room, and he would have to find a way to get that IV plug somewhere outside his body. He recalled her last words, as she played well the offended woman, and pouted as he replied bitterly.

"I guess your boss must be very proud of you and the way you manage to keep your prisoner in their hospital bed. Huh," he continued with a tight smirk, ignoring her.

"I... What?" she let escape, pondering about his last words. _My boss?_ She rolled her eyes as she muffled a smirk and replied on the same icy tone he had used with her. "I don't know Mac, you tell me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he shot, furious, his eyes back on her now. Oh yeah, she was good for turning back his question, but he was good too, and he wasn't ready to give it up yet.

"Well, you are, my boss," she stressed the words. "So you must know if you're proud or not," she quipped, crossing her arms in front of her affecting a stern look.

"Your boss?" he smirked, raising his brows. "Yeah that's a good one." He looked at her stunned face at his words, but he chose to ignore it as he continued. "You see, if I hadn't met your friends, guarding my door, then maybe, maybe I would have bought it, like yesterday, but now it's not working."

"Story? What?" her eyes widened as she realized what he meant. "Don't you tell me, you still believe that crap about you being that scum bag. Oh Mac, C'mon! You should know better. Trust your gut, damn it!" she shot back as anger was now rising from her throat. She couldn't believe that they were back to square one. Sure, Dr Shen had told her it wasn't going to be easy, but that. She sighed wearily. "I know you don't remember, Mac, and it's not easy for you to trust me," she continued, her voice softening a little. "But these officers are here for your protection."

"If you say so," he huffed, turning his gaze toward the grey skycrapers far outside the hospital. Crap, that woman wasn't gonna tell him the truth.

She headed over to the other side of his bed, and stood firmly between him and the damn window he hadn't stopped looking at, her hands over her hips to hold her ground.

"Look at me Mac!" she called, a bit sharper than what she had intended to. She couldn't bear him thinking so little of him. Whatever happened, she wasn't going to let him think he was nothing for her or for this city. _No way! _It would destroy him.

He glared at her. Who the hell did she think she was to talk to him like that?

Her green, sparkling eyes locked with the deep, turquoise ocean of his. He could see the fear and anger burning in the depth of the green pools in front of him.

"Yes, protection, Mac, against the sick bastards who tried to kill you." She slammed. "The same who probably blew that building to be sure we wouldn't find you!"

Her voice was almost yelling in pain and frustration of not being able to reach her partner. Sad tears started to wet her eyes; they usually understood each other with a simple glance, but now it seemed as if there were huge, thick walls between them, and she was desperate to see how far they'd come.

Her glistening eyes full of sorrow and fresh tears, dammed suddenly his furious anger. She looked really hurt, he realized. _She's making fun of you. It's fake,_ his anger called out. _Don't trust her!_

"So why haven't you told me before?" he replied, intrigued and confused at the same time by her heartbreaking behavior.

She wasn't behaving like a threat to him, he could see it, but he was curious about his own angry thoughts surging from nowhere. He felt so angry after her; after the nurses and this damned hospital; after the men that had tried to kill him; after the cops at his door, in fact, after everyone he could think of. He swallowed, not sure what to think anymore. Was he losing it?

She sighed. "I'm sorry. I should have told you. I thought you already had a lot to deal with and that would bring more stress on you, and..." she paused. "And I didn't want that."

Was she going to say something else, he pondered, a deep line creasing his forehead.

"So Flack and I, we put these officers in case they try to finish the job."

"To kill me?" He frowned. Her story sounded solid, but deep down a deafening anger was still burning, screaming at him that she was lying.

His eyes locked with the emerald pair waiting for him. He could feel the truth behind them. Though his gut could just be wrong, how could he be sure of his instinct? He sighed. He, her boss, targeted by men he didn't know, that was a lot to cope with on the same day. Maybe she was right, telling him that before would have increased his stress, but somehow he couldn't shake the feeling of having been betrayed, but by who?

"Tell ya what," she announced. "At the first occasion and when you'll feel strong enough, we'll go to your office. Then, you'll have plenty of time to decide if you can trust me or not. I won't be mad at you if you can't trust me till then, okay Mac?" She watched as he seemed to be struggling with himself, not sure of anything.

He bit his lower lip, thinking about his options. It looked like a reasonable proposition, but could it be another trap? He sighed, he was tired of this whole thing. He let his head rest back on the fluffy pillow behind him, and narrowed his eyes.

"We'll see then," he answered with a more neutral tone, his anger almost vanished from his voice.

"Good," a smile grazed her lips as she let out her breath. _One step in the right direction, Stella._ Still smiling, she grabbed a chair and sat, watching his tired features beginning to relax. "I talked to your doctor..." She continued, trying to head to another subject that could, this time, build back his trust in her, she hoped. Again she saw him tense, but this time she was prepared. "He said you were eager to leave this hospital and I agree with you. Can't say I love to spend my time here either; though in your case, your wounds won't heal if you go back to work that soon."

_Going back to work._ He hadn't thought of that, but he was sure he wanted to get the hell out of here, as soon as possible, so if she had an option as he could see it in her eyes, then he was ready to buy it. "What you have in mind?"

"Well, Dr Shen agreed to release you tomorrow if you follow his directions, meaning no stressful work, no workout or chasing..." She started to list as his eyes widened, surprised, he could leave so soon.

"I think I can do that," he finally said after she was done with her list. _That's too easy. _"What's the catch?" his brows raised slightly.

"Yeah you think so," she smirked, taking pleasure to speak without neither one of them shouting at the other for once. "Like you could rest quietly at home," she teased with a small smile.

"So if you don't believe I can, why are you here and not..." his voice trailed off as he locked his green, ocean eyes with hers. "Who?" He shot, as he realized where she was heading.

"That'd be me. I would have asked you first, but since you put me as your next of kin on your medical file, I guess I already know the answer. So you will be staying with me until you get better."

"You?" he stared at her, stunned. _She's my next of kin. _"Don't I have a family for that?"

She tightened her lips. "I'm sorry I can't..."

"Answer to that," he finished for her, letting out a frustrated yawn. "Yeah, I got that part already," he fussed, thrashing about in his bed, which only provoked more flaring pain soaring through his already too tired body. He hid a wince. "Tomorrow then. You and I." He stressed on the words, his jaw clenched from the pain and the thought of being coached by her. It felt so weird. He wasn't a kid. His anger burst again and he had to fight it not to let it rise. Maybe, if he could earn her trust, he would be able to get away on his own while she would be helping. So he remained quiet and watched as her face took a serious look.

"You want me to leave and give you some time alone, Mac," she asked, a pinch at her heart at the idea of leaving him again.

He sighed. "Yes." He needed time to cope with all these new information and get rid of the drugs too, and maybe prepare a plan to escape this whole thing. He observed her as her face decomposed at his word. What if they were really friends? Then he was stretching their friendship to the limit. _She's not your friend,_ his confused mind shot. _Let just see how things turn._

She nodded slowly at his straight answer. Standing up, her sight wandered with sorrow to the floor, trying to push away the disappointing feeling that submerged her. "I'll come back tomorrow to pick you up." She replied with a small voice.

"Stella," he called with a hoarse voice as she headed to the door.

Stopping, she turned toward him, her golden curls bouncing on her shoulders; her face desperately trying to hide the pain that had filled her being and was now reddening her eyes. "Yes?"

"I need some time to think alone," he repeated, with a soft voice.

"I understand..."

"But I can use some company tonight," he cut her off, his voice warmer this time and his eyes observing her reaction.

A wide smile spread over her face. "I'll be back around then," she replied, relieved. Finally, a part of the Mac she knew was back.

He nodded, as she watched his eyes close from exhaustion.

If they had to stick around each other for some time, then it was logical that he try to get to know her. He sighed, unsure of what was awaiting him outside. If she was right, he had a life as a cop, her boss. On the other hand, if she was playing him, then he had nothing to expect and nowhere to go. He sighed. _It all comes down to trust,_ he thought as he drifted to a world of shattered dreams.

_**xxx**_

"Stop watching this crap, Tommy!" growled Martin as he shot an angry stare at his brother, slouchedin the old, navy couch.

It was the third time in the last couple hours he had to reprimand his brother, and now he had enough. He snatched the damn remote from his brother's hands when the phone rang. He checked his watch; 8:32 PM, and frowned; who the hell could be calling at this time?

He was about to ask the identity of the intruder when his body tensed unconsciously under the angry, well known voice yelling on the other side.

"What the hell happened?" yelled the boss. "You said he was dead."

Martin glanced at his brother, becoming nervous. "He's dead, boss, we..." He began, but was cut short by another blow.

"Don't give me your shit! I'm not in the mood for that. Just put your damned TV on channel four!" shouted the boss through the phone.

Without waiting a second, Martin pressed on the fourth button. A female reporter wrapped in a heavy coat appeared on the screen. She was talking before a crumpled building, the snow falling in bundles from the right side of the screen as the camera caught the heavy, white flakes. The report was obviously live, as he read the subtitle; Unexplained collapsed building kills at Triborough, Long Island.

"...Yes Mike, as you can see," spoke the reporter. "The police are still trying to figure outwhat happened on the 58th of the 31rd street. Though the building that was standing behind me was scheduled to be destroyed next week, the NYPD has no evidence of a malfunction so far."

"I see your point Leslie, it's a strange coincidence that Detective Taylor happened to be there when it collapsed." The reporter in New York's studio replied sternly.

"Exactly Mike, the head of the crime lab is known for his thoroughness and going in this building knowing it could collapse at any time, for no precise alarm is really unlikely."

Martin smirked._ Yeah, Taylor had been definitely screwed because of his girl. Talk about a smart guy when a slap from his chick could turn him into a wreck. _He sneered. _That piece of man deserved what happened to him._ _No real man should let a woman tell him off like that._

"Ah Leslie, do we have more details about Detective Taylor's conditions? "

"Well," she took a step back to let the camera take a closer look at the collapsed building behind her. "I've learned that he was pulled from this awful wreck late yesterday and sent to Queen of Mercy in critical condition." She turned toward the camera. "The Chief of the Detectives, Chief Sinclair, declared this morning to the press that it seems that his life is no longer in danger, although he refused to give any further comment about what Detective Taylor sustained during his ordeal. So hopefully, he would be up and about in no time as we know his tough reputation, but we can say that it was a close call for him and his team, Mike."

"Thanks Leslie, I guess New York City's gonna sleep relieved, knowing one of his best cops is going to be fine tonight..." the reporter paused shuffling with papers before him and then looked back at the camera. "Now let's check the current weather; Derek? You said that this storm should stick for a longer period, is that right?"

"Yes Mike..." spoke a young man in a blue suit before the map of the state of New York.

But Martin wasn't listening anymore. _Shit! Taylor is alive._ Slowly, he set back the phone to his ear.

"I will take care of the problem," he spoke as he gritted his teeth.

"You'd better," threatened the voice of the boss. "And this time make sure he's dead before you leave him. No! Correct that. Bring me his body. I want to check by myself, since I can't trust you for doing a kid's job."

Martin swallowed the blow and clenched his jaw while he closed his eyes as the line went dead. _That was close, _he thought as he hung up.

"Tommy?"

"Yeah Marty," growled his brother, his head turning toward him.

"You stick here until I come back, okay?"

"Yeah," he said grabbing the remote his brother was handing him, and starting to change the channel.

Martin nodded. "I'll be back in a few. I expect you here when I come back, right?"

"Yeah, where you gonna go?" he asked as he settled on a drama show.

"Say hi to an ol' friend. So you stick around, okay? After what happened, we got to keep a low profile, and I don't want you chasin' any first girl that smiles at you, okay?"

"I'm not like that." Tommy defended himself, taking offense in his brothers' words.

"Oh yes you are, just do the damn thing I'm askin', okay?" replied Martin, anger back in his voice.

Tommy muffled something before his attention went back to the screen. Martin watched for a minute as his brother was quickly engrossed in a crime scene discovery. He shook his head quietly and headed to the door, thinking. Walking in the corridor, his mind began to prepare a plan.

To kill the cop, he'd have to find him, first. He thought for a minute before a wicked smile spread over his face, remembering what the reporter had said. Taylor was treated at the Queen of Mercy. He swore silently entering the elevator. This time had to be the right one.

Thirty minutes later, after crossing the city, he entered the Queen of Mercy's ER and went straight to the intern's locker. He knew how doctors could be so careless and trusting sometimes, leaving their lockers open. This was always a good opportunity to get the best outfit to pass any police line without being noticed, and this time wasn't going to be that different.

Then, once he would be with Taylor, he already had his special cocktail ready; a mix of different drugs, the thing killed in a few hours. From people to people, the symptoms appeared to be very different, going from a mild headache to real illusion and panic attack but in the end, it always appeared like a heart attack going with a natural death. He smiled as he pressed on the small needle safely tucked inside his pocket.

Pushing on the intern's locker door, he glanced quickly inside. The empty place was quiet and poorly lighted. _My luck, _he murmured as he went in order to change. And as usual, among all the lockers, he had found several opened and waiting for him to take what he needed. Quickly, he pulled out a set of fresh, blue scrubs, and headed to Mac's room. According to the nurse, he'd talked to on the phone, his room was on the fifth floor. As he walked with a firm pace, soon he faced the police guards, addressed them a slight nod and went inside. A wicked grin spread over his face. Those cops were really so useless.

The room was bathed in a dim orange light, and his prey was snuggled warmly under the sheets, eyes closed, and waiting for him to steal his life. He smiled, Taylor seemed sound asleep. Quickly, he checked the monitors and watched for a moment his heart line going up and down and wondered if his plan was going to work, or if he shouldn't adapt. Sometimes, adaptation was a good thing and killing a sleeping cop could be as easy as stealing a lollipop from a baby. Seeing, the cop's tensed face, he assumed he was probably under heavy painkillers and that was good for him. It would likely slow the cop's moves if he happened to wake up and even keep him asleep. He smirked, so if he wanted to just chokehim with his pillow, there would be nobody to stop him. He sneered at his sleeping victim; that cop had no chance with him since the boss had given him his name, he was dead from day one.

He stepped to Mac's bedside, and smiled wickedly as his prey didn't seem to stir, deeply asleep. He noticed the black stitches on the left side of his head and remembered when Carl had hit him. Three against one, it had been Carl, who had whacked his head off after he had managed to throw Tommy against the wall and him flying on the other side of the room. He smiled, but this time that damned devil had no way to get out. _Then, let's go for poison, _he thought with joy, preparing the needle. He took off the protecting cap and grabbed Mac's IV line with the other hand.

He was about to insert the needle inside the IV dropswhen the door was pushed open. As soon as he heard steps, he set back the deadly tool in his coat pocket and looked at the monitor, as if he waschecking Mac's vitals.

Trying to remain as calm as possible, he heard the grazing sound of a chair being pulled behind him and then, someone sitting with a deep sigh. _Shit too late! _He cursed his bad timing, and headed quietly to the door, his hand nervously fidgeting with the syringe in his pocket. _See you soon Taylor,_ he thought as he pushed the door and exited, choosing to retreat strategically.

_**xxx**_

She glanced at the man lying asleep in the hospital bed and a tight smile grazed her lips as a doctor checked his vitals and exited his room. Stella glanced at her watch, almost 10 PM, she noticed before her gaze went back to Mac's sleeping face; his features now relaxed, he looked more like the old Mac she had come to know; patient, calm, understanding, and mostly trying to shield her from every bad thought he could have.

She smiled wearily but then, it quickly faded when her eyes met the gauzewrapped around his right wrist. Today hadn't been the best day in her life, though seeing Mac alive and speaking was the best news she could have wished for, but they had fought a couple of times, and that alone, was enough to make her sad. A deep fear settled in the pit of her stomach as she was just realizing what rough road was ahead of them. Until she had seen him behave this oddly with her, she had really thought that Mac was going to get through this like he always did, with one of his famous stunts and a charming grin, but she wasn't so sure anymore. After their second talk this afternoon, she had come back to see him as he had asked her, but unfortunately he was already asleep, and since then, he hadn't made a move to make her believe otherwise. She sighed, at least, the last time he had asked her to come back, so she could assume they were making progress, and since it was Mac, she wasn't about to lose hope. _Never._ She allowed a small smile to graze her lips; _the important thing is him to be alive and with me, right?_

Quietly, she eased herself back into the hard, metallic chair, getting ready for another restless night watch. Even though Flack had placed two guards before Mac's door, she couldn't shake the idea that his life was still in jeopardy. No, she had been too close to lose him this time and she wasn't about to take his safety for granted anymore. She sighed, hopefully tomorrow would be a better day, when she intended to help Mac recover his memory as quickly as possible. As time passed, she felt her eyelids drop wearily and finally felt sleep claim her in a world where her Mac was coming back to her.

_...TBC

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**A/N:** Well, I didn't want to finish on a big cliffie this time.:) So I managed to put a lot of things in this one, though there's still a lot to come.

So let me know what you think of this chapter and what you think it's going to happen to Mac and Stella now. Did Martin will be smart enough to get to Mac? Or is Stella going to find out about Martin's threat before? Bets are on...


	9. First snag

**A/N: **Well, again sorry for the delay, but since you're all waiting for this chapter I would be short. Thanks to all for your alert, or favorite. Again, many thanks to all for your reviews, you guys rock.

And to Bladraggon189, my amazing beta friend, thanks Liz.

**Warning: **As written before you may find Mac is a bit OOC, but it's part of the story so bear with me.

**Summary:** A man finds a body. When he picks up the ID in the coat, it reads "Detective first grade Mac Taylor". Is Mac really dead? What will Stella do when she'll learn the news? Angsty Smacked...with all the team.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, beside the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

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**_He strode through the silent corridor as the night shift had brought its quietness into the hospital. He cursed his bad luck._ How can that woman enter his room like that?_ _I thought they fought together. They should be apart, pissed off by each other, instead she acted like he was still her best friend. _Martin headed to the nurses' desk, there, he should be able to glean some valuable information about his target, and maybe a better schedule; he huffed silently.

At the desk, he quietly leant on the counter, and glared at the young nurses typing on their computers, entering data from patient's charts spread before them. He pasted a slight smile to his face. _This should be easy,_ he thought.

"Hi," he threw to one of the nurses, a young brunette engrossed into her files.

She raised to him her blue eyes circled by a pair of thin, round glasses.

"What is it sir?" She frowned. "Doctor?" She enquired, just noticing his blue scrubs.

"Yeah I'm sorry," he said as he gave her his hand. "I'm Dr Martin from Englewood. I came as soon as I learned my friend was here." He glanced at his watch, affecting a tired look.

"And your friend would be?" asked the nurse, her face relaxing a bit at the mention of Englewood.

"He's a detective. I've been told he was brought here yesterday. Detective Taylor?" He asked casually, his face taking a concern look.

"Oh yeah, the Head of the Crime Lab." She checked on her computer. "He's in 533 on the fifth floor, right at the end of this corridor."

"Yeah, I know." He gave her a weak smile. _Now's the tricky part. "_I just saw him but he was asleep." He sighed, taking a pained expression. "I'll come back later. I was just wonderin' if you knew how he's doin'. I didn't want to wake him up after all this, and I have to be in my own ICU in twenty." He let out a small breath and gave her a shy glance. "I mean, I would have asked for a quick look at his chart if he was in my turf, but..." his voice trailed off, faking his mind pondering about his options. "I guess here it's a bit different, and I wouldn't like for you to get in any trouble..." his voice lowered as he glanced back toward Mac's room, frowning. "It's just I'm worried, you know." He looked back at the nurse and sighed. "I... I'll try to come back tomorrow," he dropped with a disappointed voice.

His lips curled a bit as he watched the nurse quickly glancing at her friend busy preparing some files. Then, she looked up at him with a complicit smile.

"Well I guess if you're his friend and a doctor, it can't hurt to take a glance at his file." She turned to a large closet behind her with rolling shelves, and grabbed a file among thousands of others. "Here," she said as she handed him a file, thinking she was helping a friend.

"Well you're sweet. I just want to be sure he's gonna be okay," he added as he opened the file before him and smiled. _This is going to be very interesting._

_**xxx**_

He woke up in sweat, his heart racing and beating loudly in his chest as he stared at the room before him. His breath short and shallow, he blinked, trying to remember where he was and shaved the confusion lingering inside his mind. As he took a deep breath, the dark veil clouding his vision began to fade and the loud sound of his racing heart beeping through the monitor beside him reminded him that he was in the hospital, and not in the dark, glacial hole anymore.

He sighed, thankful the images he had seen in his tortured dream had only been a nightmare, but were they really from his imagination? He swallowed before he stared aimlessly at the white ceiling over him, wondering if they didn't belong to his past somehow; he shut his eyes, praying they weren't. Then, a deep, cold fear came back to his mind as he realized that some hadn't been just a nightmare. It had happened. He hadn't imagined his confusion about his identity and the loss of his past; it was all very real; as real as the dilemma with the cops after him, too. He couldn't trust them, he couldn't trust anyone.

"You okay,?" asked, softly, the voice of a woman from his side.

As he turned his head to the voice, he finally noticed the woman standing near his bed. _Stella, _he remembered as he frowned lightly. Her face was bathed in the soft, orange light of the sunrise, increasing the tiredness carved on her face.

A painedexpression appeared on her face as she noticed his tired features and his face beaded in sweat.

"Bad dreams?" she tried, her forehead creasing with more worries.

"You can say that," he whispered more to himself, but his words weren't lost to Stella and her frown creased even more.

"Do you still want to leave today?" she began, watching with attention each muscle of his face. "I mean, if you're tired it would be better that you postpone your..."

"No," he croaked, his voice still hoarse. "I don't want to stay here one more minute than I have to."

He looked back at the ceiling, his stomach becoming nervous about the thought of getting finally out. He could only remember fragments of images about the city or the place he had been, and even those were too fugitive and scattered in his mind. He let out a small sigh hoping that getting out would help him finally to remember. Lots of questions invaded his mind, and he wondered what he should be expecting with her. Was she really going to help him get through this? Or was it a trap neatly set by the cops to lock him up for life? He closed his eyes as he saw himself lying on a cold and damp ground of a small and dark place, the walls closing on him as a door was locked behind him, and a voice whispering that no one would come for him now, that he was all alone. Then, the flash disappeared, though the tearing pain of lying beat and covered in sweat on a cold ground still lingered in his body and mind. Shivers ran through his body.

"Mac?" asked Stella with worries as she had seen his eyes shut and his face tensed wrenched in pain. Her own heart had skipped a bit at the sound of his heart monitor going crazy for a minute as from an intense fear. "What is it, Mac?" Silence followed her words as his face was still closed to her, his breath coming in short raps. "Are you going to be alright?"

Then, he shot a pair of glassy eyes towards the ceiling trying to catch his breath. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead and the long of his cheeks. Without a word, his head slowly turned to Stella.

She bit her bottom lip as she caught the sight of his glassysight seemingly lost, his face trying to relax but ending with a grimace.

"Yeah," he croaked once more, just before he winced at the sound of his rough voice. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Dr Shen said your voice should be back to normal in one or two days. The time it heals properly," she paused, observing his tensed features, and knew it was useless she asked again what had just happened. Even the usual Mac wouldn't talk to her when he had decided not to. So she dropped the subject, but promised herself to ask him later and continued about an easier subject. "You know after what you breathed down there, it's a miracle you can still talk at all." Her eyes looked down, the image of the dark basement appearing before her, and she swallowed back the painful memory of his unconscious form.

With the sudden silence settled between them in the room, Mac stared at her and watched as she seemed lost in her thoughts for a moment. A strand of messy golden curls softly dropped from her shoulders, gently brushing her cheek as it swayed for a while. He narrowed his eyes, wondering if he had ever assisted to her being so helpless before him. He didn't know why, but it hurt him to see her like that, like an old habit surfacing. He swallowed. _Or it's just guilt for what I told her before, _he cursed mentally.

"When can I go?" He said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"I'd say about an hour detective," replied the voice of Dr Shen as he entered the room with a big smile. "We just need to run another test, and then you'll be free," he paused, taking a more serious stare. "That is, if you promise me not to strain yourself too much. The wound in your side isn't healed properly yet, and with your mild concussion, I would normally advise you against leaving now, but since you've been very insisting..." he stared at an expecting Mac. "I think as long as you stay with someone you should be okay." He finally admitted and saw relief spread over Mac's face. "But without the strong painkillers in your IV, you will soon feel the pain returning in your body and like I told you yesterday, straining yourself won't do any good to your memory."

Dr Shen glanced at Stella and then looked back at Mac. "Your stay in the freezing cold had pushed your muscles to their limits, so you shouldn't be surprised if you ache all over, though it should dim within a few days. The frost bites at your fingers and feet however are going to stay for quite a while. Numbness to the tips of them is to be expected also, so I strongly recommend that you stay indoors, and to avoid any weary walk in the snow right now." His chin pointed at Stella. "Your partner has already the list of your medication and the things you can't do to avoid any harm or reopen your wounds."

Mac glanced at Stella nodding at Shen's remark and felt a small anger breeding within him. He frowned, what were they thinking? That he was a kid or what? But he pushed away the thought and tried to focus on Shen's recommendation, his only ticket to getingt out of here; his anger could wait until he was free.

"So as long as you follow her advice, you should be okay," finished Dr Shen with a smile.

Mac sighed. _Follow her advice. Just hope it's not a trap._ He nodded to Dr Shen. "'kay."

The doctor shook his head. "I'll have the nurse come to prepare you as soon as we get your file back."

"Is there a problem?" asked a soon worried Stella. They hadn't had any trouble to find his file before that.

"Not at all," answered Dr Shen with an apologetic smile. "It happens sometime, as a nurse misplaces a file, but either way we always have a backup in case, so don't worry about it." He waved his hand as to shave the subject and headed to the door. "And Detective Taylor?" He threw as he turned back.

"Yes," answered Mac, feeling awkward to answer to a name he wasn't feeling a thing about it.

"If you don't feel well at any time, or you're having headache or feeling nauseous, don't hesitate to come back here to have a look, okay? I know you have a reputation of sucking up the pain and get on with it, but your injuries are serious this time, and if it hadn't been for your stubborn insistence and your partner keeping an eye on your health, I wouldn't have released you. So, I wouldn't try to sneer at Death twice in the same week if I were you."

Mac frowned, _a reputation. _"I will," he answered flatly as he watched the doctor leave his room. He glanced at Stella with a questioning look.

"Hey, don't look at me," she defended herself. "I haven't told him that. I guess he read your file and probably heard about the hostage situation last year."

"Hostage situation?" he asked as he raised a brow, his eyes sparkling from curiosity.

She sighed. Well, now that she had let slip the subject, she might as well tell him, and since he had only come up with a small concussion at the time, she guessed it wouldn't be a too stressful event to remember. So, as they were waiting for the nurse to come for his test, she started to tell him about how he had found himself a hostage to free thirteen civilians.

As she spoke about how he had uncovered the scam at the bank, the car chase and when they had finally found him in Jersey, he could see the pride gleaming in her eyes, although from time to time, worries were creasing her forehead. _Had she really been worried about me? _He wondered as he listened to her soft voice, glad she was finally filling some blanks, and without knowing it, his anger lost its grip inside his chest.

_**xxx**_

The sun was already up and shining brightly onto the white, frozen street when Martin exited his apartment and tramped down the snow as he headed to his car. His boots crunched the frosted, white powder under him, and he wondered how long this freakin' weather was going to last. Even though they had a bright shining sun today, the weather channel wasn't optimistic about the next few days. No, it could get even worst. He stopped before the driver's door and huffed sternly at the frozen handle. Cursing, he kicked at the thick layer of ice to open the door.

He smirked, thinking about his prey. Finally, the trip to the hospital hadn't been a loss of time; he had managed to get a copy of the detective's injuries, and seeing the extent of those and his doc's conclusions about PTSD, Taylor was going to be out of order for some time, making things easier for them to approach him and shut him up for good. He smiled, his mind planning his next move, especially if the cop didn't remember him or Tommy. That was going to be easy. He climbed in his car, slamming the door behind him, which sent a pack of white flakes from the roof down to his windshield. He turned on the wipers to sweep the snow away, and let out a small growl of frustration as his hands tightened around the cold wheel, waiting for his brother.

Today was going to be a field day. He had learned in Taylor's file that his doc had agreed to release him this morning. So, at the first second he was left alone, he and Tommy would be there to make sure he wasn't going to see another day. He sighed, that is, if his brother decided to join him as he hit the wheel; the horn honking in the silent street.

The passenger door suddenly opened and a grunting Tommy slumped inside and closed the door in a loud whoosh.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here." Tommy growled. "Don't need to get all cranky. Why do we have to go in this cold, anyway?" He asked angrily, rubbing his hands together.

Martin counted until ten, trying to calm his anger that threatened to explode. No, he had to keep his head cool if he wanted to get to this cop today. Even if Taylor was a wreck, right now, he wasn't about to underestimate him. The Head of the crime lab had already escaped twice to his destiny, and he wasn't about to let it happen a third time because his brother couldn't bear that damn weather.

He looked at the window; the bright light of the morning sun glistening over the silver, frosted snow covering every car, stairs, railing, and trashes in the street. Everywhere his gaze set upon, the cars were under a thick, white, frosty coat, though, only his and a couple of others were parked with their windows brushed and the trunk free. He wondered a moment, how many people had decided to go by foot or underground, instead of their cars. This city was crazy. He knew that, even if this street was covered with snow, the main roads would be freed from the white powder, or at least, swept enough for them to follow their target, and that was enough for him.

"Remember, Tommy, this time is our last shot."

"Yeah I got that, but if the cop has his brain messed up, why do we try to kill him again?"

Martin sighed, deciding that he wasn't going to lose his time, again, to explain the same things he did last night. "Shut up and put your damn seat belt on."

Tommy did quickly as he was told and shot a furious stare at his younger brother. Martin started the engine and their SUV bounced on the snowy road. Soon, they would definitely get rid of their main problem.

_**xxx**_

Mac groaned as he slipped an arm into a warm, black sweater Stella had brought for him. Soon after the test, she had shown up, a brown, duffelbag in hand.

_Clothes I picked up from your apartment, yesterday,_ she had said, giving him a light smile when she had noticed his frown.

_You had a key?_ He had been amazed that she had rumbled through his things without even asking him, though he was glad to change into something different that the hospitalwhitegown or the scrubs they had given him to leave.

_Mac, we both have a spare key of each other's apartment, in case of emergency, and I thought this was one. So, I grabbed a few things that you could use to get out of here. _

He remembered her mischievous grin and her eyes sparkling._ Wouldn't have my partner wandering out in scrubs with this winter, would I? _She had dropped with a broad smile.

Even though, it was still hard to really trust her, he hadn't been able to hide the small smile that had tugged at his lips. _Thanks, I guess,_ he had uttered shyly.

And now, in these clothes, he did feel a bit better. Though, the painkillers were wearing off, he was starting to feel the deep extent of his wounds; the white cold pain seeping through his muscles, and crawling under his skin like a poisonous venom reminding him of the damp cold hole he had escaped from.

He let out a small grunt as he slipped into a warm, leather jacket and headed to the door. Stella had left his room a few minutes earlier to give him some privacy, and he was thankful for that as he still had to get used to their partnership as she called it, but frankly he was beginning to wonder about it, and what she meant exactly by that. Were they just friends? _Do friends give a spare key to each other?_ It was weird.

Grabbing the duffel bag, he pulled the door opened and stepped outside his room. He watched the corridor full of busy nurses hovering from one side to another. With some relieve, he noticed the police officers were gone and wondered if he was really free to move around or if it was a trap. They could just be observing him from a dark corner, waiting for him to run and tackle him down at his first escape move. He sighed, his nervousness still high, but then his eyes settled on Stella, sat on a bench at the end of the corridor. _Give her the benefit of the doubt,_ his mind whispered. _What if she's right? What if you're really that cop she mentioned, her boss? _He let a smile played on his lips, wrapping his mind with the warm idea of being a 'good guy'. _It could really be interesting then. _

But then, he looked down sadly. _What if it's just a dream, what else would be there for me, then? _He took a deep breath, trying to shave away his dark thoughts and hobbled slightly to her. The pain in his side shooting with every step, he clenched his teeth, trying as much as he could to keep a straight face. Carefully, he snuggled his arm to his side, hoping to diminish the pain, though after a minute he realized it didn't change a thing. So, he swallowed, the hot, rising pain, and glanced at Stella still ten yards ahead. Lost in her thoughts she gave him a light smile as he noted her tired features when her eyes finally met his.

Her heart tightened in her chest as she watched Mac, hobbling slowly toward her. Wearing his black sweater and a pair of dark, blue jeans underneath his black, leather jacket, she looked into his green, ocean eyes and met the weariness of his fight to keep his body up. Dr Shen had warned her, that even though he was releasing him, he wasn't fit for anything, even walking would tire him out quickly, and obviously he was, as his face was changing into different colors depending on the winces that he failed to hide. She muffled a painful sigh as he stopped before her, swaying a little but his hand taking support on the back of the bench to steady him; his face already showing sign of exhaustion. His fight with the cold had really taken its toll on him, she realized, with a pinch at her heart.

"You're ready?" she asked as she took the duffel bag from his hand without asking.

"Thanks." He locked his turquoise pools with her emerald, releasing a small sigh. "Yeah, I'm all set."

More than anything, she wanted to take his free arm and lead him to her car, though he didn't remember their partnership, the old Mac Taylor wouldn't mind, but that was the catch; he wasn't her old Mac Taylor, the one she used to tease and laugh with. So, after checking his face and catching the nervous tension that arose between them, she finally opted for pointing toward the exit and walked slowly by his side, though she remained in rhythm with his steps in case he slanted too much. Near her car, she climbed into the driver seat and tossed his bag behind her. Biting her lower lip, she watched as he stifled a deep groan when he climbed into the passenger seat. With caution, she saw him cuddling his arm to his side, his breath becoming short again as he closed the door.

"You okay?" she softly asked, listening with pain at his wheezing breath.

He gave her a tired glance as he buckled his seatbelt with shaking hands. "Yeah," he whispered, lying.

Friend or not, he wasn't about to let her see him weak. The belt pressed on his side wound and pinned his back against the seat. As he moved to reduce the pain, he woke up the scorched flesh on his left shoulders that now rubbed at the back of the seat. Silently, he muffled another wince and looked at the falling snow outside the parking lot, trying to ignore the pain soaring through his tired body when he felt Stella's eyes on him.

"Can we do a tour of the city?" He winced at the sound of his voice still hoarse and rough.

She frowned, taking all the measure of his tiredness as his shoulders sagged heavily. "You're tired and with this snow... maybe we can do that tomorrow..."

"I'm not a kid Stella!" he snapped, his harsh anger rising beneath his words and even surprising him.

Stella stiffened at Mac's harsh tone. "Mac, I didn't mean to..."

"I know what I can take or not!" He cut her off again. He glanced out at the window, feeling his body tensing under his sudden, uncontrolled wrath toward her. "Just..." He took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging a little bit, his stare locked on an invisible point outside. "Just let me have a sight of the city, okay?" he continued, his voice softening as he tried to swallow the fierce rage coming from his gut.

She watched his free hand tightening into a fist and frowned as she started the engine. This wasn't the time to argue more.

"Okay. Let's do a tour," she answered on a neutral tone, trying to appear as relaxed as she could, although she was slightly trembling inside.

Even in the middle of their worst argument he had never used a tone like this with her. Does it mean she had never seen his real, angry side? She sighed, quietly. _Probably_. Mac had always been able to hide so well his feelings that sometimes it was hard, even for her, to know what he was thinking. Okay, so if he was in this mood, she'd better avoid any delicate subject, then.

Too focused on their heated moment, neither one of them noticed the black SUV following them as they left the parking lot, and engaged their truck onto the murky, snowy road among the traffic.

In silence, Stella drove the car onto the frosted street of New York, glancing from time to time to her too quiet partner. Several times, she noticed his forehead wrinkling and his body tensing as if he was remembering something and then nothing. She hoped he was recalling good moments, though every time it happened, it seemed more and more painful; his face becoming a new expression of the word misery as time passed. Obviously, her stubborn partner was once again working hard to make the impossible happen in no time.

She clenched her jaw, recalling Dr Shen's advice he had given to Mac. _Your memory loss, is only temporary, when the concussion will subside you should remember more easily. Until then, it's gonna be very painful to remember anything, so don't try too hard or it would do more harm than good._ But as always, even though Mac had nodded to Dr Shen, he seemed eager to do this the Taylor's way; but now after an hour of vain efforts, his tired body was starting to show obvious signs of exhaustion. She sighed, noticing for the third time his eyelids fighting to stay open as he dozed off, though, this time, his head sagged slowly on his side, and his eyes remained closed. She thanked sleep for finally making her partner rest.

She tightened her lips and turned to her right at the traffic light, heading this time for her apartment. Twenty minutes later, she slowly pulled over at her building and stopped the engine. She gazed at Mac sound asleep, his head now resting against the cold window. His face was pale and tensed, and she couldn't suppress a wince as she noticed the deep crease wrinkling his forehead. Even in sleep, he couldn't find peace.

_**xxx**_

A small puffy cloud escaped Hawkes' lips as he grabbed his CSI case and closed the door of his car, Lindsay on his tails. His boots splashed the grey, dirty slush spread over the main road.

"Hey man," threw Hawkes to Flack as he and Lindsay finally climbed to the snowy curb, crunching the frosted snow under their rapid steps. "What ya got for us?"

Flack sighed and nodded toward Lindsay to acknowledge her presence. She gave him a tired smile as she followed his gaze toward the entrance of an underground parking lot behind him. Lucy had probably kept her parents up all night again, deduced the young detective as Lindsay seemed lost in her thoughts. Or maybe she was worried about Mac.

He sighed. They had almost lost him, and none of them had been prepared for that. Now the whole team was trying to pull their best face, as if nothing happened, but all of them had been pretty shaken up, like after Jess. He closed his eyes, scolding himself for letting his thoughts wander into such hurting ground. He couldn't let his mind go this way, or it would take him days to get back on his feet, and right now Mac needed him. He took a deep breath, focusing on the task ahead. His hand tiredly shuffled through his short, brown hair, trying to shave off the falling, white snow.

"My guys found it an hour ago," he finally replied to Hawkes, turning on his heels. His boots ground the dry, icy snow under him as he headed for the dark entrance.

Hawkes and Lindsay exchanged a quick, interrogative glance as they followed the young detective into the dark opening, their CSI cases bouncing at their sides.

"Found what?" asked Lindsay, her eyes scanning the darkness before her. Then, she brought a hand before her mouth, pouting; a strong, humid stench assaulting her nose.

"What's that smell?" she mouthed with disgust, her voice taking a high pitch.

"Ah, one of the sewer pipes exploded under the cold and now its contents kinda invaded your crime scene, sorry Linds."

Then, the light bathed the parking lot, as one of the police officers had found the switch.

"That's what we found," stated Flack, pointing at a black SUV parked in a corner, a large, dark puddle spread underneath the car.

"Is it Mac's?" asked Hawkes, his eyes widened in surprise.

"Yeah, the color, the plate, everything screams it is. I just opened the front door to get a quick look inside and confirmed it." Flack gave them a wink. "It's all yours, now, guys." He shook his head. "I hope you finally get somethin' from it."

"We're gonna try," uttered Lindsay, putting on her gloves as her boots sploshed into the stenching, thick liquid surrounding the car.

"For Mac's sake I hope you do so sooner than later," Flack tossed. "Do you have news from Stella? I tried to call her, but she didn't answer my calls; I guess she's still at the hospital." Flack was a bit somber for being kept in the dark about Mac.

Lindsay turned toward Flack with a concerned look. "Well, I'm sure she was busy with Mac. She said she was going to pick him up around noon, and then, would head to her apartment." Lindsay's eyes looked up at the car. "She's taking the afternoon off and probably tomorrow to stay with Mac."

"Well, knowing his injuries," intervened Hawkes with a bitter tone. "She'd better stick with him. He can't be left alone right now. Mac had probably been very convincing with his doctor to let him go, but if it had been me, I tell ya, he would still be in his bed, probably tied to it knowing the guy, but certainly not wandering outside."

Lindsay smirked to her friend. "Wow, I would like to see you trying to tie down Mac. Because I'm sure you wouldn't hold ten seconds." She smiled. "C'mon, you know Stella, if she couldn't restrain him, no one can. It's the job first, always be."

"Considering his memory loss, I wouldn't bet it's his first preoccupation right now," dropped sadly Hawkes as he opened the passenger door.

"You're right." Lindsay bit her bottom lip. "He's probably racking his brain to find what he lost." She let out a small sigh, hoping her friends would be alright.

Flack nodded silently, remembering what Mac's doctor had told them and what Stella had made him promise after that. He and Stella were the only one to know about his special condition. Hell, if he hadn't been there at the time, he would bet, he would have been kept in the dark like the others or Mac. He frowned, and the latter wasn't gonna like it, even though it was doctors' orders. So no, he wouldn't tell the team about the PTSD Mac was suffering from, though Stella had to understand, that, at one point, the team would notice something was different. He watched as Hawkes' beam shoved the darkness from the driver seat to the back of the car, hunting for any evidence that could lead them to the scum bags who had dared to attack their friend.

"I don't see anything weird," began Hawkes before he frowned, and with a pair of soft tweezers, picked up a hair from the driver seat. Quickly, he put it inside a plastic bag and started back to his search.

"Well, let's get to it," replied Lindsay as she opened the trunk, taking a small vacuumcleaner. She hoped they would be able to find a clue, because if they didn't, then, they would be back to square one with no clues on how to help Mac.

_**xxx**_

Stella watched with worries as Mac leaned his back against the wall inside the elevator, favoring his right side. After waking him up, he had stared at her, his gaze lost and unfocused until he had locked with hers. Then, sudden realization of where he was had sunk in him and without a word, he had followed her to the elevator; his pace slow, and his breathing coming in short rasps with each heavy step. Not daring to start another fight, Stella had preferred to remain quiet, not offering her help when she had seen him sway a little as they had waited for the lift to come; although it had taken all her will to control herself and not move, her palms still bearing the red marks of her fingernails as she had tightened her fists in a hopeless watch. She sighed, and now, she was watching with more worries as Mac was dozing off again. He seemed so worn out.

"Mac," she spoke with a soft voice, finally breaking the silence. "We're almost there." Softly, her hand went to pat his shoulder. It broke her heart as she felt him quiver under her touch.

"I'm fine," he replied dryly, his eyes still closed and his body slowly slanting against the opposite wall to avoid the contact of her fingers.

She bit her lower lip and turned her sight toward the doors, her heart wrenched in pain at his cold behavior. If he wanted to avoid her, fine, but then the next couples of days were going to be really tough on both of them, she thought with sorrow. _He's not the Mac you know, Stella. Give him some time_, she repeated to herself. _But where is my friend?_ She complained silently.

The small whoosh of the doors opening warned her they had arrived. Quickly, she glanced at Mac, who was still leaned heavily against the wall, his eyes closed and his forehead beaded in sweat. He was breathing slowly, as if concentrated to inhale deeply. It hurt her to see him like that, but if he refused her help, there was nothing she could do.

"It's our stop, Mac," she spoke, breaking the sickening silence that had settled between them.

Quietly, he opened his eyes, and used the wall to steady himself, before he followed her into the corridor. The blue carpet of the floor muffled her heels as she headed toward her apartment on the left. Her jaw clenched, she used all her will power not to stop and wrap his good arm around her neck to help him walk. Instead, she listened painfully as he limped behind her, his boots rubbing against the carpet in rhythm of his wheezing breath. _What are you doing to yourself, Mac? Why don't you want my help, damn it?_

Stopping in front of her door, she quickly unlocked and opened it. Glancing back at Mac, still standing in the doorway, she went to the kitchen and dropped her purse and Mac's medication she had bought according to Dr Shen's list. She heard the main door close and went back to the hall. There, a haggard Mac was standing, well, more like about to crumble as it seemed his legs were about to give out. His tired gaze wandered over her furniture, paintings on her walls or every item that could bring a sense of deja vu in his memory. After a few minutes, she heard him sigh and he looked down, his shoulders sagging from obvious disappointment. He had probably hoped that her apartment would bring back some images of his past.

Pain was etched on his face, but this time she was sure it wasn't because of his wounds, no, he had deeply wanted to remember something from his past, but he had failed. She sighed too. It was normal that nothing here had triggered his memory. In more than ten years of friendship, she could count only a couple of times when he had come to her place, respecting too much, her no men policy, and since her apartment had burned down two years ago, any items that could remind him when they'd met, had been lost, scorched by the flames.

"It's okay Mac, you haven't come here often..." her voice trailed off. "I usually don't have guests."

She gave him a warm smile, though it was lost to Mac as he was already staring at the view of New York City, behind the window of her main room.

The yellow lights of the city were starting to shine through the early night as the sun was already setting down. She glanced at her watch: 5:37 PM. With his test, the administrative papers she had to file before they left the hospital and their little tour of the city, the time had gone so fast she hadn't noticed it. Her sight went back to Mac, his back to her, his shoulders sagged wearily as his right arm was carefully snuggled against his side. She could bet he was swallowing back the pain, although he had shown no sign of their old friendship, he was still behaving like the old Mac Taylor, keeping everyone out of his life, even when wounded. She shook her head with sadness, wondering how long it would take him to crumble with all that happened lately, because honestly, she wasn't sure she would be able to fix him after that. The most solid rock, once broken, could only remain in broken pieces, no matter what. She sighed, hoping she wouldn't have to verify that.

"This way is to your room," she pointed at her left to a door ajar as she felt him swaying on his legs when he came next to her.

Without a word, he limped tiredly to the door. Then, finally she was rewarded by the sound of his grating voice as he gave a weak push to the door with a lazy hand.

"Night," his coarse voice broke, followed shortly by a light coughing that churned her stomach.

"Don't you want to eat a bit, Mac. I can order something and have it here in..."

But before she could finish the door was closed behind his cough with a loud thud, and she remained alone in her main room, staring at the blank door. _He's alive, _she repeated to herself, trying to muffle the growing pain inside her heart. _You know the real Mac Taylor will not have done that to hurt you. So just let it go, Stella, he's tired and needs some time... Yes, some time, but for how long? _That part was really scaring her. _What if he never remembers? _She closed her eyes, praying things would finally be fine from now on.

Silence wrapped his body as the door closed behind him. He swallowed the nauseous bile that was rising inside his throat and sighed, trying to stop the next round of coughs that he felt coming. His chest heaved both in pain and from the small trembling from the muffled cough. His hand over his mouth, he stared at the queen size bed covered with a light blue blanket and smirked. That girl had quite the spare bedroom. Over the bed, a painting of an ancient god, he assumed, was stuck to the wall, the divine figure staring back at him still standing on the threshold. To his right, a small window with blinds let the shining lights of the city pierce the dark shadows of the room.

He frowned, he knew he was behaving like a jerk with Stella, but he couldn't talk to her right now. He just didn't know what to say. And what if she was setting him up? Since the beginning, he had that gut feeling that something wasn't right with her, but what was it? He was so damn tired that he was afraid she would be able to lead him to wrong assumptions, and, even if he hadn't told her, he was still mad at her for not telling him about the cops guarding him, and the fact she knew he had a painted target on his back. He wanted to trust her, but something in his mind was screaming danger when he was with her, as if he was scared of her. _Crazy._ And now he couldn't shake the idea that she was preparing something to trap him somehow. So why make conversation to your enemy? _Because she could really be my friend,_ he thought as he let out a tired sigh. _Damn, I'm really screwed._

Tugging his right arm against his side, he limped wearily to the bed, and crashed on the blanket, his face deepening into the fluffy pillow under him. Unable to fight the sleep, his eyes closed the minute he hit the blankets, his left leg still dangling from the bed. He was so damn tired, that thinking about doing anything else was already too much._ Probably the drugs. Damn Doc. _How could he try to get out, if his medication was knocking him out that fast? He felt his body quickly giving up to the weary sleep and was soon out before he could realize it.

_**xxx**_

He limped to his desk, his cane grating at the tile floor and sighed as he slumped heavily into his chair. Frowning at the file in his hands, Danny looked up at the screen before him and the crease on his forehead instantly faded as his eyes set upon the picture of his smiling daughter in the arms of her mother. He smiled tiredly before he looked back at the file, the lump in his throat back. They had come so close to lose Mac this time that it wasn't easy for him to focus only on work. His eyes ran one more time over the lines of the last lab test and he bit his lower lip in frustration. So far, they hadn't found any lead to knowing who was behind Mac's attempted murder. Though, Sid had finally got a portrait of the dead body found where Stella had discovered an almost frozen to death Mac. He quivered at the thought, the image of his unconscious, bleeding boss and friend being wheeled inside the ambulance printed before his eyes.

Shaving the thought, he glanced at his watch: 8:34, and decided it wasn't too late to call Stella. He knew Mac had been released around two as Lindsay had told him the news when she had called to report from the Long Island crime scene, but he wasn't sure if everything went okay. He sighed, he was worried sick, even since two days ago Stella had told them Mac had made it out of surgery fine, and that he was going to recover slowly, and there was something he couldn't shake, a bad feeling about all this or maybe it was just because it was Mac.

Seeing him so vulnerable had shaken something in Danny. He had always thought that nothing would be able to make his boss keel over. No, nothing in the world could take him down, although, two days ago had almost proven him wrong. Someone had tried to make Mac kneel and fortunately for all of them, by some kind of miracle, Mac had survived. A wide, proud smile grazed Danny's lips. _Yep, even beaten, frozen, and his blood leaking away, Mac had managed to survive._ That was their Mac, the man he placed above all, when he, Danny, felt lost and desperate. He was the man he looked up to knowing that no matter what, Mac would find a solution that he would be there for them. So maybe that's why he was so pissed off about himself, because he hadn't been there for him, though he knew that Mac would be fine, at the end Mac had always made it fine.

He frowned, but that news about his memory being a wreck, was kinda scary for him, and frankly, he had no idea how he was going to be able to look at Mac without, somehow, not feeling guilty for not coming to his help sooner. If he hadn't comforted Stella that afternoon, then, maybe things would have turned up differently, and they could have come to his help before he got hurt and lost his memory. He sighed, but now things were done and there was nothing he could do about it, like with his brother, Louie.

A deep sigh escaped his lips as he bent slightly, his elbows now resting on his knees. He took off his glasses and pinched at the top of his nose, he closed his eyes, his head down. _C'mon Danny boy. _He let out a deep breath and pushed back his glasses on his nose, and pressed on Stella's ID on his cell phone, waiting. Few seconds later, Stella's tired voice echoed on the phone.

"Hey Stella, its Danny."

"Ah Danny. Is everything okay at the lab?" she asked a bit worried.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry. Hawkes and Lindsay have been called by Flack on a crime scene, and I spent the day processin' the body we found in the basement."

"And?" she enquired her voice getting stronger, as if she was waking up after a long sleep.

He frowned. She had to be pretty tired to sound like that, but with Mac out of the game for some time, all his responsibilities were falling down on her shoulders now.

"Well, I'd just call to keep you in the loop." _And get some real news about Mac,_ his mind whispered. "Although we have his 3D picture, we couldn't identify the guy in our database. I guess he's either a poor guy that was at the wrong place at the wrong time, or someone who's able to keep a low profile in any circumstances."

He heard her sighed on the other side, "Thanks Danny. Is there anything else?"

"Huh, yeah. Just wondered how's big Mac doin', you know?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood and not seem so worried about Mac.

"He's okay, Danny, I guess," her voice faded as if she was thinking about something. "He's asleep right now, the drugs are still taking hard on him, Danny. So I don't know when he'll be able to come back, and I'm not leaving him until we're sure it's safe..."

"Hey don't worry. We can hold the fort for you both until he gets better. You know that right?"

She sighed, "Yeah I know, Danny, thanks." He heard her sighing again. _Yeah, the next couple of days are going to be tough on all of us._ "Did Sinclair come over?"

"Nah. Haven't seen him in a while," answered Danny, checking over his shoulder at the name of the Chief of Detectives.

"Thanks Danny. Keep us in touch."

"Yeah. You two take care, okay?" he said softly.

"You know us Danny."

"Exactly, so you tell him to take it easy and you do the same, alright? Or I'll send you Lindsay, and although she can be sweet and nice most of the times, I can promise you she knows how to make you regret not to rest." He smirked mischievously, before he hung up.

So, Mac was okay and sleeping. He grinned with relief. _Mac sleeping._ He raised his eyes to the ceiling, these two words together were a first as he smiled widely, at least his friend was okay and he had the best person on the world to look after him. A boyish grin spread over his lips. Who knows what could happen now that Mac and Stella were stuck together, with all the complicit glances that they tossed to each other every day? As if he couldn't recognize the signs. He chuckled. Same signs as the ones, he and Lindsay had exchanged and... _Oh, C'mon Danny,_ he scolded himself,_ that's not your damn business_. But as his eyes settled on the picture of his family, he hoped things were going to turn for the best for his friends too; they deserved it.

_**xxx**_

Stella hung up and stared at the door where Mac had hidden himself a couple of hours ago. It was late, and she hadn't heard any sound from his room since then. She closed her eyes, hoping he was okay. But then, a minute later, she decided to calm her nerves by making some coffee in the kitchen. Though she should rest, she couldn't with Mac in her guest room. As she filled a cup of steaming coffee, she found herself wondering if he was really okay. After all, he had been so close to death's doors than leaving him alone was becoming scary for her.

_He must be asleep,_ her mind intervened, _that's why I don't hear anything._ _Sure, he's asleep, seeing the pain that wrenched his body all day and his tired glances._ But then, his weary walk came back to her mind, and she wondered nervously if he had been able to lie down on the bed without falling; his steps had been so unsteady that she doubted now that he had made it properly without hurting himself; for all she knew he could have fallen and crawled to the bed._ Crawled,_ her mind scream. That could rip off some of his stitches and he could already be bleeding few yards from her. Fear crept up the lenght of her back. _C'mon. He would have called me instead of crawling. Mac, yes, but this new Mac, would he?_She sighed, unable to wait any longer and decided to go to check on him. _Just in case,_ her mind whispered. _Just in case he tried to crawl to his bed because of his stubborn pride and my stupid words on the phone. _She bit her bottom lips as she put the steaming cup on the island and headed to his room.

Softly, she knocked on his door. Getting no answer she quietly pushed it opened and gazed with a pinch at her heart at the sleeping form spread over the bed. Laid on his stomach, she noticed with pain that he had barely made it to the bed, his left leg still drooping from the bed, and his clothes still on. She winced. For his clothes she couldn't do a thing with now if she didn't want to wake him up and hurt his wounds. So she quickly dropped the idea of undressing him.

Quietly, she stepped beside the bed and her eyes lingered on his sleeping face, his head deeply sunk into the fluffy pillow. His eyes were closed and he seemed so calm and peaceful, a stunning contrast to the pained face he had worn all day. His slow breathing echoed in the room as she pulled off his shoes and gently lifted his left leg to lay it nearthe other. He let out a weak groan as the move had probably triggered some dull pain somewhere, but didn't stir. She winced at his weak voice, but was grateful that for once she could see and hear what he was feeling without his stubborn barriers to filter it.

Then, she went to the closet, and grabbed another blanket. Gently, she laid it over him. _It's gonna be okay now, Mac, _she thought as her gaze lingered on his tired features, and resisting to the urge of touching him, she left his room. It was too hard for her to see him so vulnerable and still unable to reach him. With sadness, she dropped onto the couch, turning off the light of the room as her eyes were finally giving in to the tears she had fought all along. It was safe now, but so different. _Will I be able to help him? Is he going to be okay? _Were all the questions tumbling in her mind as she let herself sink into a restless night.

_**xxx**_

From the street, Martin and Tommy stared at the window, and watched with delight as the light disappeared. A wicked smile curled Martin's lips as he glanced at Tommy. In a few hours, everyone in the apartment would be sound asleep, and then, they would be able to act. Mac Taylor wouldn't see the next sunrise.

_...TBC

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A/N: Well, not a big cliffie this time. Hope you liked this chapter. More to come with Mac and Stella as he had to start healing properly with a caring Stella by his side, and new development with Martin and his crazy brother. Thanks again for reading this and don't forget to review and give me your thoughts about it.


	10. A special place

**A/N:** Okay, I know some of you thought the last chapters were a bit long, and you'll see it's the same with this one. I pondered to cut this one in half and make it shorter, but after some reflection, I wasn't convinced it would end well, I usually stop where I feel it's the best for this story, so here again a long chapter, sorry!

As always, a huge thank you for everyone who put me or this story on fav or alert. I wouldn't write that much if it wasn't because of you all, who write a review or just read it. And again a big thanks to my beta, Blackdragon189. I inserted more stuff after her edit, so if you find any mistakes they're all mine, enjoy!!

**Summary:** A man finds a body. When he picks up the ID in the coat, it reads "Detective first grade Mac Taylor". Is Mac really dead? What will Stella do when she'll learn the news? Angsty Smacked...with the whole team.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, beside the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

_**

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**_The night was quiet, which was really unexpected in New York City. Most of the times, one could watch the slow passing of the cabs scouting the street in search of late customers, but not tonight. With the snow storm ensnaring the city in a freezing grip, few cars had made it on the icy, bumpy roads. Even the curbs had been invaded by white, thick walls of frozen snow where the snowplow had pushed heavy packs of fluffy, white flakes from the road these last few days; and now the whole city, frozen, seemed to move in slow motion. It's why tonight, for the first time in the last decade of New York City, there was no agitation in the streets; motion being petrified in ice. The few, brave enough to trudge through the frozen chunks were quickly hurrying inside and were not paying a lot of attention to the men in the car parked in front of Stella's apartment, despite their frenetic act every half an hour, when one of them would exit the frozen car and sweep away the fallen snow from the windshield to hurry back inside.

Martin growled as he slumped back into the driver seat. His mood hadn't improved in the last couple of hours as his windshield wipers had frozen on the window and obliged him to get out to wipe away the fresh, falling snow. His brother glared at him when he closed the door; a mass of frozen air mixed with heavy, white flakes sneaking into the car at the same time. Although this time, Tommy was satisfied that Martin had let the engine run, providing some well needed heat inside the frozen car, the regular in and out movement was taking the warmth out of it in no time, making him grumpier.

Martin checked his watch once again and read 12:26 AM. The light from Stella's apartment had vanished three hours ago, and now was the right time to check if the detectives were really sleeping.

"Let's go," he ordered Tommy. "Let's see if we can end this job once and for all."

As his gloved hand touched the bump in his coat pocket, checking he still had the deadly syringe with him, the other hand pressed on his gun nestled under his left arm. He opened the door and jumped into the crunchy snow. Glancing from side to side to the deserted street, he smirked and slammed the door, bringing up his collar. He nodded to his brother who was puffing big clouds while mumbling angry curses about the damned, cold weather. As Martin was about to stride across the frozen street, his phone went off. Checking the caller ID, he narrowed his eyes when he recognized it. D_oesn't sound good._

"Get in the car," he said to his brother, who shot him a look of confusion and remained frozen. "Get in, damn it!" he growled once more as he got in himself, shooting quick glances around him to see if someone had noticed them. He snorted, no, with this cold, everyone had quickly shelled back into their warm cocoon._ Good!_

"Wh..." started Tommy, but he stopped quickly when his brother shot him a furious look and pressed to answer his phone.

"Are you done yet?" asked the calm voice of the boss.

Martin swallowed to wet his dry mouth. "We're 'bout to do it, boss," he replied, closing his eyes and waiting for the angry reply.

"Why those delays?" the voice came soft and not as angry as he had thought.

Martin sighed. "He was under heavy protection in the hospital but now he's out and..."

"What! He's out?" asked the bewildered voice of the boss. "I thought he was wounded?"

"Yes, but apparently his doc let him out to help him recover his memory better."

"You kiddin'?" almost laughed the boss. "He lost his memory?"

"Yeah, it seems," answered Martin, not sure why the boss' tone had changed to a mild laugh.

"Are you sure of that?"

"Yeah, I have his file and..."

"What else is in there?" cut the boss, a broad smile lingering in his voice.

Martin glanced at his quiet brother and frowned, not really sure if his boss's changing attitude was a good thing. "Well, he seems to suffer from what they call PTSD. From what I learned it's kinda trauma that leaves you messed up, though they don't know if it's related to his wounds." His voice became hesitant. "Huh, I know that he got pretty banged up too. Big Carl hadn't missed his head." Martin glanced nervously at Tommy, hoping the boss wasn't gonna ask about Carl. In fact, he hadn't told him yet about Carl's disappearance and he wanted to delay that news as much as possible hoping to balance it with Taylor's death. The guy was dead anyway, or he would have made a sign since then. He raked his throat, "I recalled that he got one broken rib and..."

"PTSD," cut the boss, letting a long scornechoed through the phone. "That's interesting. Where are you now?"

"In front of his friend's apartment."

"Bonasera?"

"Yah, she's stickin' to him like a freakin' leech. Why?"

"Good, good," the boss repeated and Martin waited as he knew that the boss was thinking of something. "I want you to follow them, stay with them and report to me. I wanna know what they're up to."

"You don't want him dead anymore?" asked Martin with a frown.

"Of course I want Taylor dead, you moron. But not yet. If what you said is true then it can be for my benefit, and gettin' rid of Taylor so quickly was an extreme move, one I had no choice to make, but if now I have the time," he laughed on the phone. "Then, this time, I'll have the pleasure to play with him and make him regret standing up to me. I'm sure he'll make a fine example of what happens when you piss me off!"

"Sure boss." Martin nodded, recognizing the boss' quirks, from now on, they would be in charge of the game, and Taylor would just be an amusing pawn. He shook his head. Then, this game could just help him to raise them higher in the family than what he thought._ Good_. He liked to play too. So, he would make sure the boss wouldn't be disappointed by the game, he already had good access planted in the Crime Lab. His lips curled up in a wicked smile.

"I want a clear account of their activities as the game will unfold. If you can do that, and I can have my fun, then, your future is well planned Marty."

Martin's eyebrows rose at the use of his first name. It was the first time the boss was using it, it had to be a good thing. It meant the boss was remembering him. So now, he just had to make a real good impression to crystallize that thought in his boss' head.

"Be right on it, Boss," smiled Martin as he hung up, his sight lost to the dark alley near Stella's apartment. Until now, he had never been one to play cat and mouse._ Never_ _got to do it anyway._ But if the boss wanted to play with Taylor, making him and his brother major players and having fun with all access granted to the family, then he would go all the way for it. This was their main entrance into the family and to settle into a nice place in the business for themselves.

"What is it Marty?" asked Tommy, his worried voice breaking the silence of the car.

"It seems we're all gettin' our fun, finally." He smiled wickedly at Tommy. "Even you may fin' some fun," he stated with a smirk.

Tommy shot him a wide scary smile. _He too wants to play the game,_ thought Martin, and he would have his parts. _So now, Taylor will have to cope with their rules_.

_**xxx**_

Startled by the aggressive sound of blaring horns down the street, Mac began to be slowly aware of his surroundings. He tiredly raised his head from the soft pillow his face had plunged into, trying to remember where he was and why. His breath slow and steady, he realized, as he opened his eyes that he wasn't in the cold, damp hole anymore, and let out a deep sigh of relief. His dreams had been full of depressing, dark places lately, where he had seen himself falling among chaotic wrecks, and he was glad for once to wake up on a soft bed. Squinting through the light obscurity, his sight wandered the large, cozy room. The place was dark although a faint smokey light was coming from the closed blinds enabling him to see. His forehead creased. No, of course he couldn't be into that hole, cops had finally shown up and rescued him, he remembered now. He sighed, but why wasn't he at the hospital? He racked his brain and felt a flaring pain soaring from his right side and exploding in his body when he moved.

Clenching his jaw, his face contorted under the burning pain flaring from his side. Something hard was pressed against his tender side. He groaned as he rolled on his side, letting a deep sigh escape his lips as he lay on his back, freeing his trapped, numb hand from his body. No wonder his side hurt like hell, he had slept on his hand pressed against his tender wound._ Wound?_ His brows furrowed. Now he remembered as his throat emitted a small grunt. He had been at the hospital, at least, he recalled images of being there, but where was he now? This room didn't fit with hospital standard he noted, as his gaze wandered from the window on his left and to the painting on the wall in front of him. From where he was the painting looked like some kind of old farmer harbor with a blue, lazing sea crawling to the left. Then, his eyes settled on the door placed between the painting and a long closet taking almost all the wall on the right. That door was the only exit, his only exit. He frowned, listening carefully as he thought he had heard muffled steps; but then it was silent again. If there was someone, he was either gone or waiting for him to get out, and frankly he didn't like the sound of that.

Despite, his tired muscles screaming to rest a little longer, his curiosity took the best of him, and he decided to check what was behind that door. A wrenching pain tore at his body as he sat on the bed, and winced, his breath coming in short rasps. Lazily, the warm blanket covering his chest fell softly to his lap. His mind focused on dealing with the pain soaring from his side, he pushed the blanket aside and swung his legs over the bed with another wince. Carefully, he stood up, his feet deepening into the thick carpet, realizing with a frown that his shoes were missing. His sight wandered on the soft carpet, and he saw with relieve a pair of boots, neatly set under a chair next to the window. Swaying and shaking involuntarily on weak legs, he finally managed to take support as he leaned a bit on the door's closet on his right.

He blinked, trying to adjust his swaying vision to the shadowy light crawling from under the door. That's when he realized he was fully dressed and still wearing his jacket. He breathed deeply, realizing that he must have crashed on his bed fully dressed, though if his shoes were gone; it meant somebody had come after he was asleep, but who?

With this question still bouncing in his mind, he took a deep breath and began to walk clumsily to the door, his right hand lingering on the closet for support. As he got close to the door, he felt the acrid taste of bile rising to his mouth while the room started to spin dangerously around him. Twisting slowly, his back leaned against the closet, and he stopped for a moment, breathing hard to dam the heaving surge rising from his stomach. He felt hot and weary, and wondered what had happened to him. His mind was too confused to have any clear idea, so he let it go, hoping the answer would come from what was behind that door. After a minute, the nausea slowly faded and he was able to resume his limping walk to the door. His heart beating behind his temples, he opened the door in expectation. Blinded by a white, bright light, he raised his arm to protect his eyes, a gruntescaping his lips as he had pulled on his stitches.

"Mornin'," welcomed a female voice surrounded by a shining halo, as his eyes got used to the bright light.

He swallowed, blinking lightly as his sight stopped on the golden haired woman who sat on a couch, a mute TV on in front of her.

"Hi," he replied. "Where..." he began with a dry mouth, not sure what he should say or do.

"Or good afternoon, I should say," continued the woman as she closed the laptop she was working on. "You slept almost all day, Mac, and it's a first, especially for someone like you." She gave him a warm smile as she stood up and walked toward him.

Gazing at her partner standing, no, more like leaning against the doorframe of his room, Stella noted with worry that he seemed to have a hard time remaining upright. Coming close to him, she noticed with a frown the confused look he was giving her.

"You're in my apartment Mac. You remember?" She asked with the tip of her lips, almost afraid to learn that he had lost more days. Though his deep silence didn't help her to be reassured, and a silent panic suddenly nestled in the pit of her stomach when she saw his forehead creased as if he was looking for the right answer. "Mac?" A small shiver ran through her back. No he couldn't have lost more days, no way.

Whirlpools of images mixed with wrecking sounds rushed back in his mind. He swallowed slowly, raising a pair of wondering green, ocean eyes on the worried woman in front of him. And then, the name popped into his head in an instant, Stella. She was the one he had seen at the hospital, a cop too, as he was, he remembered now. Well, that's what she had told him. But they had kept him under strong surveillance and he wasn't sure he could trust her.

"Stella?" he uttered softly.

Her fear faded at the sound of her name. "Who else?" She gave him a warm smile. "Are you okay, Mac?" Her tone was soft, trying to make him comfortable as she stepped a bit closer, though she remained at a cautious distance remembering too clearly how he had acted the day before.

"Yeah, yeah." He nodded lightly, his hand shaving the air before him. "Just forgot for a second where I was."

She let out a small sigh. "Well, with your concussion it's no surprise. Dr Shen had warned you about that, but it's going to wear off with time. You wanna eat somethin'?" She glanced at her watch. "It's well past noon and since you skipped dinner last night, and breakfast too, I guess you must be starving."

"Not really hungry," he replied as a small wave of nausea rose again to his throat. His stomach churned and he felt helpless to his strength abandoning his entire body. With a wince, he leaned more heavily against the doorframe, trying to hide his discomfort. "Stella." His tone was more serious, still trying to sound fine and confident. "You said if I trust you enough, we would go to my office." He watched her as she shook her head, a small line creasing her forehead. "I trusted you, I came here, where the hell is here anyway..." His voice trailed off as he sighed, feeling suddenly very tired. "So, now I need to see where I work and live."

She watched with pain as the green of his eyes turned into a bright, gleaming blue when a bright sunray pierced through the white clouds and bathed his face. She could see the intensity of his ocean gaze, imploring her to say yes. She observed him a minute, wondering how she was going to tell him that it wasn't a good idea. She bit her lower lip as his frail shape was sinking more against the door frame in a vain attempt to keep his shaking body up and standing, faking that he was okay. Though, hiding his pain and tired attitude would have worked with anyone, she knew him too well not to see the weariness behind his cautious moves and stand. She wanted to step next to him and take his arm around her neck to steady him, but she recalled that he didn't trust her, hell, he didn't even remember their friendship, and she didn't want to trigger a bad episode of PTSD. She sighed, knowing the day was going to be long and tiring for both of them.

"Tell ya what," she replied, trying to lighten the lingering silence. "Since you slept in your clothes and with your jacket on, I'll bet you need a good shower to feel whole again, right?" She gave him a large smile and his face lighted slightly. "Then, I'll prepare a little somethin' for us to eat, and we can talk about where we could go, but only one place, okay?" Although what she didn't tell him was that his place and his office were out of the question, doctor's orders for now. She felt a guilty knot twitching in her stomach as she was somehow lying to him, and she hated it, though she had no choice right now. It wasn't like he was remembering everything, and she couldn't bet on his logical mind right now.

He seemed to think about it for a second before he nodded slowly. "Where's..." he began his sight wandering into the main room with a frown.

"Yes," she shook her head, as she stepped next to him. "Let me show you." Gently cupping his right elbow, she led him to a door next to his room.

As he walked with her, he noticed another room , the door was ajar, and he could see a bed inside, although this one showed no sign of being slept in lately. He glanced at Stella, her sweet perfume was sending a whirlpool of confused images into his mind as he followed her. Suddenly he felt light headed as images of Stella, her hand cupping his cheek in a corridor appeared before his eyes. His heart was beating fast as the flash vanished and he gave her another fugitive glance. He wondered if it was something that had really happened or the product of his imagination when he was so close of her. Did he like her? If they were really partners, was it normal that she caressed his cheek this way? A deep frown carved his forehead, confused about the situation. If there was more between them, why hadn't she talked about it?

But maybe, it was a side effect of having been stuck alone for some time, his mind convinced him, as he still had no real proof they were really partners. She hadn't shown him any pictures or anything as a matter of fact that could really prove she knew him, or that he was a cop. So for him, that was the proof that something weird was going on. That thing about letting him get his memory back by himself could just be a trick to keep him quiet. Hell, his memory loss could as well be induced by the drugs they filled him with. He frowned, yeah, but then he wouldn't have felt the effect when he was trapped in that damn hole. So okay, maybe no drugs, he was really having memory loss. He sighed, his eyes wandering to the door ajar she showed him, the one with the neat bed.

As his sight stopped again on it, Stella gave him a small smile. "Well, that's my room back there, in case you need anything." She started to blush, realizing what she might have implied. "I mean, you know, if you need to reach me in the night and..." _Gee! _Her voice rambled, not sure how she got herself into this mess, so she ignored his questioning look with a deep sigh and stepped to the second door in front of them. _C'mon Stella, get a hold on yourself. It's only Mac here. So why I'm blushing like a sixteen year old?_

She pushed the door to reveal a creamy bathtub in the right corner, and a shower a few feet next to the sink. The tiles on the wall were covered with the same creamy color of the bathtub, although the floor was in a darker shade of brown tiles. She pointed at a duffel bag in the back corner and Mac recognized the one she had brought at the hospital.

"I left your bag there, like that you can freshen up and get changed." She locked her emerald eyes with his turquoise, worry lingering in her sight. "Will you be okay?" Even though she knew it wasn't her place to be in the bathroom with him, well, she wasn't his girlfriend afterall, she couldn't help but think she had to ask, and make sure he would be all right.

He snorted but then gave her a light nod, not sure why he wanted to make sure she wouldn't misinterpret his childish behavior. "Yeah, I'll be fine," he mumbled between clenched teeth as the pain had fiercely settled in his right side as he entered the room.

Then, he closed the door behind him and limped to the sink, careful not to slip with his socks. He froze before the mirror as he stared at his pale, tired face for the first time since he woke up in that damp, cold hole. A pair of bluish, green eyes were staring back at him, heavy dark bags etched under his orbits. He rubbed his face with a tired hand, and his fingers grazed at the rough stubble of his cheeks. Tiredly, he brushed his brown hair back and sighed. He looked like hell. His eyes seemed to have sunk so deep inside his face that he thought it would be hard for anyone to really think that he wasn't going to die in the next hour. No wonder Stella was giving him those freakin' glances every once in a while, thinking he hadn't noticed. Hopeless, about his situation, he turned to the shower behind him with a deep sigh.

Sliding out of his leather jacket, he laid it on a chair near the sink and rummaged through the duffel bag. He pulled out a blue sweater and a pair of dark jeans that he set next to the bag. Then, he found a pair of dark navy socks in the back pocket and a choice of different underwear. For a moment he frowned, wondering if it was Stella who had really picked up his clothes. But he quickly shaved the idea, even if it was her it didn't mean anything. Then, he began to undress, which turned out to be the most difficult task he had ever done. Sweating and panting after five good minutes of struggle with his sweater, he finally managed to get it off and let it fall on the ground on top of his clothes. His wounds were burning and flaring through his body, and he felt drained and exhausted for the week.

For a minute, he watched with disgust as the mirror reflected the purple bruises turning into a yellow, brownish spot over his left ribs. He winced as his hand pressed lightly on the tender skin, and a new wave of pain hit him. He swallowed it back, trying to focus his mind on his next target as his eyes settled over the white dressing on his right side. Small, crimson dots were smearing the white fabric and before his courage faded, he rippedoff the bandage, sending jolts of pain into his gut. Breathing deeply and slowly, he noted the small row of black stitches etched in his flesh, the skin around the wound colored with dark, purple stains. This time he didn't try to touch it as it was obviously hurting him since he woke up.

Then, he turned so that he could see his back in the mirror, especially his left shoulder. Wincing as he strained on his right arm to reach the dressing, he ripped it off quickly, revealing a row of deep, raw, crimson lashes carved in his flesh. He stifled a grunt as the cold air brushed the raw skin, reminding him when the wood had grazed his flesh while he was stuck under the panel. He had thought at the time that he was done for good, but here he was, staring at a mirror in a cop's apartment, who claimed to be his friend and employee. He sneered at the image in front of him; a cop and a boss. Deep down, he hoped she wasn't lying, but a small, nagging fear had settled in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn't shake the idea that something was wrong, but what?

Throwing both dressings into the bin near the sink, he headed for the shower. Slowly, the warm liquid began to slide along his weary shape, awaking at first the raw wound of his shoulder. Tiredly, his hands lay on the wall in front of him, as his head sagged and he let the warm dripping liquid ran through his hair, slid to his bruised face and dripped to his battered body. At last, it felt good to feel the hot water warming his aching body. He let out a deep contented sigh as his eyes closed, and he lingered into the soft and warm, pouring water.

_**xxx**_

Her yellow beam lighted her way through the wreck surrounding her, everywhere her eyes lay upon was covered by a thick layer of brown, frozen sludge, mixed with some kind of white powder. _Probably plaster._ Lindsay let out a small sigh as she discovered the rumble where Stella and Flack had pulled out an unconscious Mac, almost three days ago. Careful not to stumble on the broken, charred panels mixed with pieces of red bricks and scattered on the frozen ground, Lindsay shaved her light through the wreck hoping to find the beginning of an answer as to why Mac had been here in the first place, or who had trapped him. Seeing the damage of this building, these guys had probably used some kind of explosives, but now it was up to them, She and Hawkes, to find traces and get a real lead. She sighed, so far, they hadn't found a lot in Mac's car, besides a hair and some dry mud that could have come either from his boots as well as from the bastard that had trapped him. However, now that the NYFD had secured the crumbling ruins, they could finally begin to process the crime scene, and everyone at the Crime Lab was really expecting a lot from it, after all, Mac was their boss, and a lot of people had expressly joined that Lab because of him and his methods. So, crossing her fingers, she had kissed Danny at the news and grabbed her kit to arrive ASAP here with Hawkes and a couple of lab tech.

As expected, the remaining side of the building was still up and the firefighters had installed a metallic ladder to help them climb down to the basement, also called the hole by Flack. A shiver ran down her spine at the mention of the Hole. It sounded so much like a bad horror movie, where your nerves would tickle every minute making you turn back to check over your shoulder than no monster had appeared in the dark. She sighed, but the monsters in this case had been more than real, almost succeeding if Stella and Flack hadn't found Mac with his cell phone. Thank God, he never left his office without it.

"This way," Hawkes' voice echoed through the small darkness as his beam lighted a pile of frozen chunks in the middle of the room.

Watching closer, Lindsay noticed it was a white bathtub turned upside down. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she saw the traces of frozen blood left on it. _Could be Mac's, _her mind shouted with pain. _Stay focus, Linds, he's okay, he's with Stella right now._ Setting her kit beside her, she crouched and used a pad to scrap the dry, crimson surface. Sprinkling a clear liquid on it, the pad glowed purple. _Blood_. The color confirmed her. So, she was at the right place. She looked back at the men following her.

"You can install the first set here," she asked them as she pointed at the lighting fixture they had brought with them.

Twenty minutes later, the dark, gloomy place was bathed by four giant lighting fixtures. The hot light glistened over the frozen, charred panels and red bricks lay messily on the ground. As Lindsay and Hawkes finally discovered the place, their hearts skipped a bit in their chest at the vision of war before them. Half of the floors had collapsed on themselves, crushing everything in their way down, and if it hadn't been for a giant column in the middle of the room, the entire place would have been buried under that falling wreck of bricks and wood. They looked at each other, exchanging the same understanding. What had been the odds that the building didn't collapse entirely and that Mac found himself in the only spot where the roof had held on? Too small. They took a deep breath. _Yeah_, once again, it had been a close call for their boss and friend, really too close.

_**xxx**_

She bit her lower lip as he closed the bathroom door. For a while, she stayed there, her back against the wall, unable to move or make a sound. She was waiting to be sure that he had made it into the shower. It felt so unreal to be standing there in front of this door after all that happened to him. She sighed, glad he was back but conscious that they were on the threshold of a long, tiring road, but as long as he was alive and that she could remain with him, she really didn't mind. Then, she finally heard the water dripping, and she began to relax. Things would be alright now. Seeing his state, she couldn't have walked away without being sure that he hadn't crumbled to the floor, drained from his energy. As Dr Shen had told her, he was in no shape to be released, but considering his memory loss and the fact he was suffering from PTSD, the best option was to let him be alone to set his mind at peace as quickly as possible, which, she hoped, would increase his chances of a full recovery. Keeping him in a hospital room would have only increased his stress. Mac had never been a man to stay in one place anyway, even though he was hurt. However, his weak shape didn't allow him to walk or move that much, and Shen had warned her about looking for signs of weariness from him. And right now, although he had just woken up, he was showing all the signs of someone too tired to do anything else but rest today.

Yep, today wasn't a good day to move around. She sighed, he had barely made it to the bathroom without groaning, and the few winces she had caught on his pale face had achieved to convince her. She bit her bottom lip, she hadn't lost hope to make him reconsider his choice of going outside. After a hot shower and a warm meal, he would probably be too tired to go anywhere, so why was she so worried anyway, she wondered, her sight still stuck on the door. Nodding slightly, she turned and headed to the kitchen. She sighed, the water was running, and Mac was a big boy, she could stop worrying now. And he certainly wouldn't appreciate having her looking over his shoulder or knowing that she had kept a close eye on him from the minute he had set foot in her apartment; though she couldn't stop it. He was her friend and he needed her right now, and this time she intended to be there if things turned out wrong. Her sight wandered to the fridge, and she shook her head remembering his weary frame when he had disappeared in the bathroom. He looked so lost and vulnerable, the opposite of the vibrant, cunningimage he used to shine every day. She swallowed the lump in her throat, but now things were going to be okay, she convinced herself. It had to be.

Glancing at her watch, she decided to call Danny and check with the team. She headed quietly into the main room and dialed the young detective.

"Danny?"

"Yeah, Stell, how's goin'?" he asked, his voice accompanied by a familiar rumbling behind him.

She frowned, surely Danny hadn't disobeyed her once again, he wasn't outside processing a case while She and Mac had clearly expressed that he should stay put in the Lab. "Where are you Danny?"

"Huh," she heard him hesitated. "In my car actually. Linds and Sheldon are where you found Mac. The NYFD has finally secured the place and granted us to process the scene."

Although it was good news, and meant that they were going forward with Mac's case, she sighed, he had smartly ducked her question. "I mean outside the Lab, Danny?"

"Ah, that. Huh, kinda wanted to see the place by day with real light there, ya know."

"Yeah, I know. But remember that we told you to stay, in, the Lab. Not outside, venturing." She sighed, she knew how Danny could feel, hell, she was just feeling the same way, well, maybe hundred times more because Mac was her partner, but the young detective had to understand that he couldn't play with his life like that, especially when neither Mac nor her were there to get him covered. "Danny, this is your last trip before a long time, you understand me?"

"Yeah, I hear you loud and clear Stell," came Danny's remorseful voice.

"Good. Now you can say to the team that Mac and I, we're fine. So, you take care, alright?"

He smirked. "We'll do, Stell. Keep an eye on the Boss, talk to you later."

Stella smiled, her gaze wandering beyond the window and to the silver towers. Oh yes, she was keeping a close eye on Mac. In fact, she intended to never leave him anytime soon.

_**xxx**_

Half an hour later and still worrying sick about Mac, she finally heard him open the door. Heavy footsteps grazed at the smooth carpet as he limped to the kitchen, obviously still too weary. She muffled a sigh, letting go the breath she had been holding. It surprised her to be so worried about him, although he was just in the other room. She hadn't felt that way for him in a long time, since... well, she bit her lower lip, not since that fateful day in September that had taken away a part of his soul. She winced at the painful memory, remembering the awful days and months that had followed as he had come to work only to lose himself in more cases; days after days becoming a shadow of the man he was. She swallowed, shaving the terribles images that had burned her mind and turned to find him observing her. His weary body still leaning against the doorframe, she noted that now he had showered and shaved. His hair was messy as if he had brushed them back with one hand, and the dark heavy bags under his eyes were still contrasting dreadfully with the pale color of his skin, though, his white skin was turning into dark, purple spots here and there, where his head had dangerously collided with whatever they had used to take him away from her; his left temple being the biggest sad attraction of his tired features. She suppressed a wince. He looked awful, and yet, she preferred to see him like that than when she had found him; still and so cold.

Wearing the blue sweater she had stuffed for him in his bag, he seemed to be floating inside as if it was too big for him. She frowned, wondering if he had lost pounds before this whole event, or if it was the stress, and at least three days without properly eating that had done that to him, though knowing her partner, he had probably managed to skip some meal before this whole thing. Finally, she decided that it was due to his way to stand. In fact, she had never seen him that drained. Every wrinkle of his forehead or tugging at the corner of his mouth indicated he shouldn't be up and walking, he should be resting in a bed. Even his way to lean wearily against the doorframe, his hands stuffedloosely into his pockets as to be sure it would support his shoulders, were more evidences that her friend was in the worst state she had seen him in years; even his legs seemed to be on the verge to succumb to his weight. She bit her bottom lip, hiding a wince. In ten years she had known him, only once she had seen him in this kind of shape, and at the time his mind and heart were a wreck too. _Oh god, Mac. _Realizing which road they were engaged in. She gave him a small smile, trying to hide her own discomfort before turning to her cooking and letting a heavy sigh escape her lips, but far from his sight. This was going to be hard on both of them.

"Can I help with something?" his hoarse voice croaked through chapped lips, although it sounded less rough than the day before.

He tried to pull a smile on his face, but only succeeded with a small tug at his lips, visibly too weary for that too, she noted with sorrow. Glancing at him, she smiled back, shaking her head. "Ah, it's okay, Mac, I'm all done."

He watched tiredly as she pointed to a table already dressed.

"Why don't you take a seat, I'll bring our food then."

He nodded slowly and limped wearily to the table, his right arm carefully nestled over his side. His jaw clenched in an attempt to muffle any groan that could escape his throat. Stella watched painfully as he tried to hide a wince when he sat, his body obviously in pain. Setting a tray of pancakes on the table, she quickly brought back a pan with scrambled eggs. Without asking him, she filled a large spoon with it and began to stuff his plate, laying slices of fried bacon and another big spoon of mashed potatoes.

Frowning, he looked up to see her grab two more pancakes to add to his plate. "I think I'm good with that," he said, raising a hand before his plate, but Stella didn't listen and dropped the pancakes near the eggs.

"You need to eat, Mac, trust me?" she dropped, ignoring the sternlook he was giving her.

He deeply sighed, his heart beating a bit faster. _C'mon, don't get stressed up for two pancakes,_ he scolded himself as he felt a smoldering anger taking place in his stomach. Without looking at Stella, he mumbled a small thank you as his fork deepened into the mashed potatoes. Although he wasn't hungry, he took a bit of it and chewed it slowly. The food was good after a few bites, but soon, the taste reawakened a wave of nausea and he had to put his fork down. Maybe a drink of water would help.

Stella watched him closely from her side of the table as he set aside his fork after having only touched a part of his plate and quickly gulpeddown a glass of water. She frowned as his face turned whiter than the table set, and closed his eyes in a small attempt of shutting himself from the outside world._ No, today isn't a good day to go outside, definitely, _she decided_, _no matter what he wanted.

"You don't want to eat?" she asked softly, not wanting him to think she was scolding him like a child; one fight had been enough yesterday, she remembered painfully.

"Not hungry, remember," he replied dryly, pushing his plate aside. "It was good though." He added. He didn't want her to think he was mad at her, even though, he didn't feel too comfortable; he couldn't blame her for that. He sighed, but now it was time to talk about important matters, as going outside for example. But to his surprise, she turned to her side and grabbed a small paper bag. She drew two small boxes from it and set them before his plate.

He watched frowning as each contained a bunch of pills. He hated those that kept his mind in a fog, and he couldn't remember anything afterward, so how was he going to find his memory back with that stuff. He sighed mentally, heaving at the idea of swallowing them. More than anything, he wanted to remember, even if it meant being in pain and feeling like a wreck, he wasn't going to let a bunch of pills rule his days, _no way_.

"These are painkillers," Stella explained as she pointed at a big round one. "And these," as she showed the other box, "are for your overall conditions, memory and antibiotics to avoid trouble with your gunshot wound. You have to take two of each, twice a day," she concluded. Although, what she hadn't said was that the painkillers contained a tranquilizing effect to help him control his PTSD. She bit her lower lip, hating herself for not telling him the complete truth, but Dr Shen had clearly told her not to talk about his PTSD or anything related to it, which in Mac's case meant a lot of things.

Mac stared at the two boxes near his plate. If he wanted to get out and escape his golden prison, it wasn't going to work if he was stuffed again with the same sleeping pills, but Stella wasn't going to drop the subject. So he had to find something if he wanted to avoid taking them.

To her surprise, he nodded without any protest, and opened the boxes, taking two pills of each and set them near his plate.

With some luck, she would trust him enough to take them on his own, and she wouldn't ask him to swallow them before her. He smiled as he saw her getting up and taking away some of the dishes. Quickly, he grabbed the pills and stuffed them in his jeans' pocket before he gulped avidly down his water.

When she turned back, she smiled as he had swallowed the pills. _Things are going to be okay._

"So, where are we going now?" he asked with a broad smile, trying to change the subject of his pills. She had promised him they would go out and help him to recover his memory, so now was the time to see if she was true to her words, and maybe he would reconsider to really trust her.

Stella cringed at Mac's demand, her back to him as she was setting the dishes into the sink. She turned a sad face toward him. "Well, it's late, Mac," she began checking her watch; it was past three now. She glanced at the window and noticed the swaying fall of the snow again. It would be dark in a few hours. "And..."

"You lied to me." He cut her off, realizing with anger she was trying to make some damn excuse to keep him inside. "You had no intention of helping me, right?" He growled, anger rising in his voice and heart at the same speed. "You're not my friend. You're just doing your damn job. You don't care about what I feel." He snapped as he stood up in a rush, and his chair fell on the floor with a chink. His jaw tightened, he limped out of the kitchen, angry, his right arm snuggling over his wound. His heart was beating fast behind his temples, and his headache came back with full force, giving him a hard time to keep his mind focus. All that he could think of was that she'd lied to him, and more than anything he had faced since he had woken up, that awful realization was piercing his heart like a cold blade. He shouldn't have trusted her. He shouldn't have let her drive him here.

"That's not true, Mac," she called after him as he was leaving. _Not this time,_ she thought, _I'm not letting you go. _

Striding out of the kitchen, she was beside him in a matter of seconds. No, this time she wasn't going to let him go and get hurt as she saw him grabbing his jacket and heading to the door. Grabbing his left arm she stopped him by pulling on his arm, which made him wince as he turned to her, darting an angry stare.

"What the..." He cursed, his shoulder now throbbing in pain where the pulled sweater had grazed the wound.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to..." she apologized.

"No, that's sure, you don't mean anything, but you still do it," he shouted, with an accusing tone, his right eye half closed under the wrenching pain soaring from his shoulder and the coming headache.

"You're right," she shouted back._ If we have to yell at each other to settle the problem, then be it._

Her words stopped him right away. The blue-green ocean of his eyes pierced through her shell, as he waited for her explanation.

Seeing the opportunity he was offering her to push her pawn, she took a lower tone. "I...I thought you would be too tired after your shower, and..." she sighed, gathering her strength and locking her emerald eyes with his, her hand going through her curly, golden hair and neck. "I don't think you're in good shape to go out today." She stated finally. "The doctor said not to strain yourself and..."

"The hell with Shen!" he yelled back, exasperated with his doctor's advice for almost everything. Why can't he just be normal? "I'm not a kid, Stella. I can take care of myself. I don't need supervision or you to tell me what I should do or not." He shouted between gritted teeth. He could feel the burning anger from the other day soaring through his chest and waiting to explode. "Unless I'm still your prisoner," he dropped finally between clenched teeth.

"What? No." Her eyes widened in shock. How could he still think that?

She could tell he was angry; the bluish green of his eyes turning into a deep shade of dark blue as if a storm was forming inside his eyes.

"I'm not saying that you can't decide for yourself, Mac, I'll never think that way. But you're not yourself. You're wounded, exhausted and you can barely stand."

He shot her a surprise look. "C'mon Mac, I've known you for years. Don't you think I can't see the signs when you're too drained to do anything else but rest."

"I can..." he began.

"To add to that," she continued ignoring his protest and venting emotions she had kept buried. "Someone tried to kill you, and I'm worried. So I'm not leaving you to hurt yourself or to be alone again, even if you get mad at me. Once was enough," she dropped turning her back to him and looking at the window. Her eyes stared at the grey towers of the city clouded by the falling snow. No way she was going to let him get hurt again.

_Once was enough._ He frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She swallowed, having spoken too much. "Huh? Nothing, forget it." Her hand shaved the subject. "You want to go out? Fine, let's go." She grabbed her keys and got her coat. "You'd better get dressed," she added, her chin pointing at his clothes. "It's cold outside, but you already knew that, right?" opening the door she turned back. "I'll be at the elevator, so you don't feel I'm treating you like a child. Lock the door when you leave."

She closed the door in a whoosh. He swallowed, biting his lips in anger. He was the one angry, why was she suddenly behaving like if it was her? He muffled a curse. His anger slowly subsided as he was now alone to cool down. If she was playing him, then she was good at it, he had to give her that; otherwise, it meant she was really hurt, but he couldn't care, not now. She had lied to him, though she had clearly admitted it, but it didn't change the fact that she had hidden things from him. He couldn't trust her. If she had hidden that, what else was she hiding from him? He turned to his room heading for a thicker sweater, and to get his boots. He pouted; she had been right about the cold though. Somehow in heated anger he had just forgotten about those. A small smile grazed his lips, at least he was getting out, that was all that mattered anyway.

After several minutes of strained efforts bent to get his shoes on without tearing too much on his stitches on his side and shoulder, he left the apartment. He locked the door as she had asked and hobbled to the elevator, his headache throbbing mildly in rhythm of his steps.

As expected she was waiting in front of the elevator, her sight stuck at the signal. As the doors opened, both stepped inside without a word. It was a tormenting ride down as silence remained between them and they headed to her car._ Fine,_ if she wanted to be mad at him, then he would show how stubborn he could be too. Without a word he climbed into the passenger seat, buckled his seatbelt with a small grimace and waited for her to start the engine.

Stella glanced quickly at Mac as he grimaced in his seat and bit her bottom lip. Maybe she was going too hard on him. At the end of their argument she had finally opted for taking him for a ride. She preferred going with him than letting him wander alone and wounded with a target painted on his back. At least, this way, she was sure to be there to help him in case anything happened. She stared at the road in front of her, after all, she had no idea how she would feel if she had lost everything she knew. Maybe she would act just like him. No, she shook her head, she would be worse knowing her temper, she would be a wreck, and Mac would have to restrain her to stay in place. She sighed, deciding that as long as he didn't remember exactly who he was she would try to make things easier for him, even if it meant she had to swallow his blows without a word. She couldn't tell him about his past, doctors' orders, okay, but at least she could make him understand her, but that would mean telling him what she felt inside. Could she do it? Would he still be her friend after he'd recover if she had revealed too much of her feelings for him?

Starting the engine, she glanced at his tired features. What would he decide when he would learn that she loved him?

Feeling Stella's eyes on him, his sight left the street passing his window to watch her driving. She quickly looked back at the road as if she didn't want him to notice her stolen glances. Her attitude was stiff and nervous, and he wondered if it was normal for friends to feel so tensed around each other, or if it was just them, or because of his current state. He chose not to ask her anything, even if he didn't care about what she thought right now, he was too pissed off for it, though he had to admit he preferred to have her like this than yelling at him. He watched outside as the snow was falling in heavy bundles, and even though she had put the heater on, he quivered remembering the cold sneaking under his skin.

"We're almost there," she finally spoke after fifteen minutes of driving in silent torment. She pulled over at the entrance of a small park.

"Where are we?" he asked, frowning. Why were they outside? He wanted to see his place or his office but this? He clenched his jaw:_ another trick?_

She jumped out of the car and walked to the entrance of the park not looking back. He sighed heavily, alone in the car. _S__he could have answered. _Tensing a bit, he climbed out; his boots squashing the frosted snow as he followed her into the park. Too drained to keep her pace, he puffed heavily, slowly trudging through the icy, white snow to reach her. "Stella?" He called out, but it seemed she had decided to ignore him._ Damn, that__ woman. _He realized quickly that she had been right on another thing; he was exhausted. Sure his body hurt like hell, but he had to muffle the constant pain tearing his side to be able to walk without screaming at each step, and his breath was so short, that his lungs were drained after a minute of trudging through the heavy snow sticking at his boots. He cursed, angry and drained, he hoped she would have a damn fine excuse for taking him into this, otherwise he wasn't going to come back with her, hell no. He'd find a way, but he would get to the bottom of this.

After five minutes of straining efforts, he finally arrived next to her, too exhausted to be able to think straight, his anger now lulled by the tiredness and pain draining his body. As he looked up, he saw her as she had stopped at the end of a small pier and was gazing at the dark, furious waters, crashing on the stoned shore below her. Her golden, curly hairs were gently lifted by the cold blowing wind. For a second, he gazed at the peaceful image of her, standing and facing the ocean while waiting for him. Without even thinking, his mind lingered into the quiet fantasy of her as she had waited for him for years. He swallowed sadly the shreds of a dream he would never live, and stepped closer. With their regular, heated arguments, there was no chance of her looking at him more than a friend. He sighed with remorse, even that he wasn't sure would happen one day.

"Where are we?" he asked between tired rasps, his hands on his knees as he had stopped behind her. If she had seen him, he knew she would have scolded him, again, to prove her point that he was getting tired too quickly to stand a small walk. So he preferred to stay one step behind till he really knew what it was all about.

She closed her eyes, listening to his ragged breath. He was obviously exhausted from this small walk, and it hurt her to hear him this weak. She turned toward him a worried glance and caught the sight of his flushed face with a pinch at her heart. He looked so vulnerable and tired that it was hard to remain unmoved before him. But now, she knew he wouldn't let her in, not after their last fight, so she resigned herself to lean on the railing behind her and act as if he was okay, well almost. She bit her lower lip, _yeah almost._

"I thought this would be the best place to start if you wanted to remember," she said, trying to sound as if she hadn't noticed his weary state.

There were two places where she always went to look for him in time when he was in great pain. One was where he had lost Claire; Ground Zero; and the second was this one, though she couldn't tell him why, he had to find it by himself. Even her, had wondered sometimes why he was coming here, at the end of this pier. Of course, she had her theories about it, but she had never asked him. Then, maybe today she would learn his true reason too. That is, if he happened to remember. She sighed deeply, hoping he would.

Without speaking, she turned her back to him and stared at the dark ocean, leaning on the cold railing. The freezing wind lifted her golden curls and a sprinkle of salty waters brushed her lips. Her eyes wandered down among the dark, tumbling waters crashing on the sharp rocks. The shuffling of his boots against the chunks of ice covering the pier told her he had finally decided to join her at the railing. Without a glance, she knew he was at her side. It had always been that way. When he was close to her, she had always known when it was him without even looking. That was their thing, the extending of their bond, they knew each other more than themselves. A small smile curved her lips, as she longed to find her friend back.

"So, what is this place?" he whispered with a small breath, his mind suddenly becoming at peace as he watched the slow, rocking movement of the dark, foamywaves under him.

As the wind blew stronger he raised his collar, a small, puffy cloud escaping his mouth. He hid a small wince as his undershirt grazed at his wounds, unprotected. He cursed mentally at his helplessness as he had left the bathroom without setting new dressings over the stitches of his side; the same for his scorched shoulder which started now to burn like hell as the shirt was rubbing it with each move.

She pursed her lips as she glanced with the same dumfounded look that he was giving her.

"I don't know Mac. You're not a very, expressive man, you know." She sighed, regretting she had never asked him about this place. Her sight wandered down, searching for an answer among the white snow covering her boots. "I guess, I always assumed this place was important for you, but never asked you why, never wanted to bother you with this if you weren't ready to speak."

Mac frowned as he listened to her. The more he was with her and the more he was beginning to think that their relationship was really strange. The fact she had never asked him about this place was weird, any caring friend would, so why not her? Was she afraid of something else? Were they really that close? As the time passed, he wondered if she knew him at all, which reinforced his gut feeling about a trap, his memory being the bait. He bit his bottom lip, his gaze trying to find the truth through her stance and emerald eyes, but she seemed tensed as if the subject was really important to her. Maybe she was telling the truth, but why all this mystery about his past and all these holes in his life that she couldn't explain, like this place? No, really, there was something wrong with all of this, he could bet on it. And even if she wasn't setting him up, there was something she wasn't telling him. Her soft voice brought him back to reality.

"As long as I was able to find you, it was okay for me." She sighed almost resigned, as she glanced at him. "I'm sorry, Mac, but you're the only one to have the key for this place."

A deep line creased his forehead as his blue, turquoise eyes pierced through the emerald mirrors of her soul. There, in front of these dark, tumbling waters, her gleaming green fields were locked with his and suddenly he knew she was telling the truth about this place. Though he was still not sure about the other things, but this, he was sure she wasn't lying about.

A small, tired smile softly grazed his lips, his eyes now focused on the tumbling waters below him. If it was a special place for him, then he should find out really soon.

His gaze lost in the dark waters, Stella felt suddenly some uncertainty as his face tensed, maybe he was remembering something. Silently, she prayed he was. _C'mon Mac, I know you can remember._

"Remembering something?" she couldn't help but ask softly.

He breathed out loudly, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "Not really... but I like this place, thanks..." his voice trailed off as if he wanted to speak more, but instead his throat let escape a small grunt as his shirt had painfully rubbed over his raw wounds. Hiding a wince, he pushed the pain aside as his sight was drown by the furious waters. "It's really peaceful and quiet, here, I mean even with this weather." He paused, trying to sound comforting. He didn't know a lot about her, hell, neither about him, but this place was bringing him a sense of tranquility, of peace, he would have never hoped for. For the first time since he had woken up in the darkness of his trap hole, he realized that his mind was finally able to look at something without being pressed by a surge of overwhelming, angry questions.

She was right, here he felt at peace with himself. He smiled, but it failed quickly as he looked up at her with concern. "You know, I...well I don't want you to think that I'm not tryin', or that I'm ungrateful for what you're doin', but I might never..." his voice trailed off, his gaze shaded with sadness. He exhaled deeply. "...and if I..." his voice remained stuck in his throat unable to put in words his troubling feelings. What if he could never remember? What if his mind remained stuck in another dark, cold hole, forever. His gaze wandered among the dark waves crashing below him, fear nestled in the pit of his stomach as he was not sure of his future.

Her soft, warm hand covered his, breaking the cold feeling of the freezing wind still lingering in his limbs, and encouraging him to continue.

He turned to her a tormented expression, and for the first time since he had been missing three days ago, she recognized the same, lost expression he had given her when he had left after their dramatic argument.

"It's just," he swallowed the deep knot in his throat and took a deep breath, his chest rising slowly under his jacket. "I have no idea who I am, Stella," his broken voice echoed through the hissingwind. "Sometimes, things gets so confused in my mind." He sighed. "I'm sorry."

His small confession broke her heart as she had no idea how to heal him. "Mac, don't be, it's okay," she replied softly. "What really matters is you. We will manage the rest as it comes." She paused looking at him with concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he paused. "It's just... well, I don't really know what you're expecting from me. I mean, you show me this, and it's good, really, but..." His gaze was stuck on the moving waters as they went up and down. "I guess you may expect me to react one way, like him." He said referring to his old self, his hand dropped helplessly against his side, breaking their contact. "But I don't know that way anymore." He sighed.

She gave him a reassuring smile as she patted his arm warmly. Her eyes wandered to the frozen waters as a feeling of guilt surged inside her stomach, and she wondered if she would be able to hold on without telling him the whole truth about his situation, and how it was even worse than what the doctor had told him. He hadn't just lost his memory, he had lost his way to be him too and think like he used to do with PTSD. Even her, knowing his situation had troubled to cope with this new Mac, so to imagine what he was just experiencing was beyond her.

"It's okay, Mac. Things are going to be okay." She closed her eyes for a second, praying to be right, the odds were small, but it was him, Mac, and she had never seen him back down from a fight. "You don't need to rush. Dr Shen said it would come back in time." And knowing Mac she was pretty sure he would be okay really soon. No, the real problem was his PTSD, and that, could jeopardize everything he was, but she would not allow it. Her right hand squeezed the frozen railing. She wouldn't let him sink alone. "You know, once, I had a very, bad problem and..." She sighed, remembering their talks few years back about the possibility she become HIV. "You told me then, that all we had to do is to take things one step at the time. And you were right. I'm sure everything will be okay, Mac. Well as long as you're not going AWOL," she finished, teasing him. "Though it would put Sinclair in a terrible wrath. And I'd love to see that, but it wouldn't be good for your career." She smiled at the thought of the Chief of the Detectives, grumbling and yelling in Mac's office but then her gaze became serious when she caught the sight of Mac shivering lightly and hiding winces.

"You okay?" she asked, sounding worried as a crease formed on her forehead.

He exhaled deeply, trying to stop the uncontrolled quivering running through his body. The cold was everywhere. His hands gripped at the railing as he felt his heart pounding loudly beneath his temples. He couldn't stop shivering, it was like someone was digging a burning blade through his wounds.

"Mac?" asked Stella, her voice louder to overcome the new blowing wind. He turned toward her an exhausted sight, and she couldn't suppress a wince of her own as she saw his jaw tightening under the pain. Without thinking twice she cupped his right cheek and as his weary gaze met hers, she softly spoke. "Let's go home."

He nodded slightly, swallowing the hot pain and exhaustion wrenching his body. He was too tired to speak anyway, though the warmth from her soft hand against his cheek had helped him to shavethe dull sleep threatening him. He let her arm gently snake around his waist as she led him back to the car while his arm took support on her shoulders. It seemed odd at first to be so close of her, but then, his tired brain let her sweet, floralperfume invade his senses and as they trudged slowly through the flaky snow. Leaving deep, messy tracks behind them, he slowly felt his strength coming back, as if her close proximity was awaking his inner forces.

_Weird._

With each step they were taking through the thick snow, she heard his loud rasp coming out, his warm breath tickling her neck every time he glanced at her. She smiled shyly, feeling suddenly more nervous than when she was sixteen, and she wondered why. Mac wasn't a stranger to her, and she had been the one to initiate their awkward embrace to walk back to the car. She shouldn't feel that nervous. She let out a deep breath as his weight pressed more on her shoulders before it curiously decreased, as if his strength was back. Glancing from the corner of her eyes, she discovered that he was looking at her with a curious look, his brows furrowed.

"Are you okay?"

He seemed to think a moment. "Yeah, I'm okay, thanks." He watched as her face beamed, and he realized it was the first true thanks he was giving her, her eyes beaming with relief. Maybe they were really friends after all, his tired brain whispered quietly. _Yeah__, maybe we are. _As he opened the car's door, he slumped in the passenger seat with a wince, and was glad when she pulled off without teasing him for asking to walk a bit, although he was obviously too tired for it. He let his eyes close as she drove them back to her place.

Though his memory was still a wreck, he was beginning to feel more compelled to believe her. Even if she was hiding something from him, her actions were true and dedicated to help him, he was sure of it now. Though he was still troubled by the effects the short contact of her body against his had triggered. He didn't feel ready to deal with this kind of feeling right now, and her being so close to him was really disturbing. As his head sagged slowly to his side, he hoped tomorrow would finally bring him some real answers, though now he was ready to trust her a little more.

_**xxx**_

They had followed them all the afternoon, and so far, nothing new had appeared, though at the last moment of the day, the chick had almost carried him back to the car. Martin let a smile play over his lips. It seemed the both of them were really close; Closer than he had thought at first. His sight wandered among the cars parked along of the white, snowy sidewalk as Bonasera pulled over to her private parking lot. Maybe he should keep that in mind for later. Although the boss had canceled Taylor's death, he was sure it was just a small delay and that at one point when the news would be back, he'd have to finish what he had started. So, this kind of friendship could really become handy. He glanced at his bemused brother. _Y__eah, soon. _But right now, he had to collect data for the boss, so he had to stay focus, and kept his thoughts on the both of them as they exited the parking lot, still holding each other.

_**xxx**_

His action more than his words had gotten her giddy**,** she realized. What had started the hard way this morning, had finally ended up with Mac letting her get close to him. She smiled shyly, this time he had let her help him. He hadn't refused her help or even quivered under her touch, though he was already quivering so it might have meant nothing, but she hoped dearly that it was a sign that they were making progress. Tomorrow they would go to the office, avoiding his apartment. She had realized since the beginning that the latter could be the worst place for his PTSD. Almost every bad memory he could have could be linked to his place one way or another; Claire, his military background, which she knew nothing about, his 333 stalker... She tensed a bit as she lay under the his office was't a better place, but at least, she hoped he had made some good memories there to balance with the bad ones. She frowned, sitting suddenly in her bed and turning on the light. She thought she had heard something. Listening carefully, she heard mumbling, no, more like moans. _Mac._ Quickly, she got up, sliding into pair of NYPD sweat pants and a long tee. Something was wrong with Mac, she could bet on it.

_TBC...

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**A/N: **Sorry to finish on this cliffie, but it's an angsty story, right? Lol. As always, don't forget to tell me what you thought of this chapter, your point of view matters...

Well, without forgetting this story I'm in a process of a new short, angsty Smacked, so if you don't wanna miss it, remember to put me on your author's alert list. So stay tuned for _Remember An Najaf_


	11. Identity

**A/N: '**ccs' and 'cat' you left a review but since you didn't log I couldn't reply, so just wanted to say thanks for reviewing (next time log, I reply to everyone who write a review)

So again, billions of thank you to all who put me on their alert, favs, wrote a review, or just read, you guys are awesome! Also thanks to my beta Blackdragoon189 for her admirable job. Now let's get into the action...enjoy.

**Summary:** A man finds a body. When he picks up the ID in the coat, it reads "Detective first grade Mac Taylor". Is Mac really dead? What will Stella do when she'll learn the news? Angsty Smacked... with team friendship.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, beside the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

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_Something was wrong with Mac, she could bet on it._

As Stella opened the door in her room, the moans became louder and they were clearly coming from Mac's room. Her bare foot deepened into the thick, creamy carpet as she hurried to his room. At first, she softly knocked, she didn't want to make him angry by bursting inside uninvited, but no answer came back, only louder mumbling came through his room. Fearing the worst, she opened the door.

His room was plunged into thick darkness and the only thing that signaled Mac's presence was his faint moans echoing from the bed. With the corridor's light to show her the way, she stepped to his bed and turned on the nightstand lamp. The small shaded light bathed his bed, and she discovered with pain her partner tossing and turning with slight moans. She swallowed the knot in her throat at the view of Mac's frenetic tossing. He seemed in the middle of a very bad nightmare. His glistening face was covered with small beads sliding to his ears and neck in a thin line of sweat, his hair was stuck in heavy strands to his forehead, and his breathing was laborious, his chest rising with difficulties while his white T-shirt clad his wet, trembling body.

"Mac?" she called, her hand softly pressing on his burning forehead.

His body was radiating heat and pain in his restless sleep as he mumbled something and quivered slightly, his eyes shut in torment.

"It's okay Mac, it's okay." She whispered to his ear. "I'm right here." Gently she stroked his wet temple, brushing back some dark strands behind his ear. "It's okay."

But her caring strokes didn't change his feverish state, and he began to groan with more painful force, whispering things she didn't understand. Swallowing back her own pain to see him in such distress, she decided to awake him. If she couldn't ease his pain in his sleep, at least she could wake him up and stop his current nightmare, she hoped.

"Mac, wake up. It's a nightmare." She patted his shoulder lightly, her eyes stuck to his flushed face wrenched in pain.

He didn't know why he was back there. He breathed slowly to slow down his heart. Why was he back in this gloomy, damp hole? He had thought he had been rescued from it. He fell to his knees, his sight stuck to the cold, upside-down bathtub in front of him. Had he dreamed all of this? His rescue? That girl, Stella, telling him he wasn't a bad guy? Was it all from his imagination? Maybe he was just going crazy.

He raised a tormented sight toward the gloomy roof over him and watched in helpless horror as a giant, dusty, white cloud flooded him. People were screaming around him, crying and shouting, running toward an unknown destination but as fast as they could to escape the swallowing mouth of the cloud. He closed his eyes trying to evade this awful vision but even with his eyes closed the bitter taste of dust remained in his mouth, and he began to crumble to the floor like a ragged doll. He was alone. He heard his own sobs joining the screams of the people around him, but then a voice called his name. Well, not exactly his name as he wasn't sure of it, but the one used by that girl, Stella. She had called him Mac, and now someone was calling that name. He opened his eyes not sure of what was really going on in his head, he was so lost. But before him, instead of the black, gloomy hole or that angry white cloud, he found a pair of worried, emerald eyes staring back at him.

"Mac, wake up," Stella called again, squeezing his shoulder more. His small groans had turned into heart-wrenching moans and she couldn't bear to see him hurting like this, though she finally saw, with delight, as he blinked several times trying to comprehend where he was. "You're in my apartment, Mac. You remember?"

Slowly, she saw his eyes widened in realization that it had been a nightmare. Then, he closed his eyes for a moment, though she could feel his trembling hand nestled inside hers, so she knew he wasn't sleeping. A tight smile grazed her face. No, he wasn't sleeping, he was just doing a Mac Taylor's thing, trying to cope with all his emotions alone, without letting her see in what pain he was. She sighed. At least, he hadn't really changed on that point. She smiled weakly, but that's what she loved in him, right? His stubborn way to protect her, even from his own fears and feelings.

She smiled, realizing what word she had used, love. She slightly nodded as his eyes were still tightly closed. Yes, she did feel something very strong for him, though she had never tried to put it into words. She frowned, hoping she wasn't going to a path that could definitely break their friendship. She sighed once more, in total lost._ Not now, Stella,_ she scolded herself. _He needs you now, later you can deal with this kind of thought, but now he needs you one hundred. _Then, he slowly opened his eyes, his shallow breath becoming longer and more regular. _Good._

"Hey," she threw with a small smile. "You okay?"

His tired gaze pierced through her eyes as if he had just discovered life itself, and she shuddered under so much intensity in his green, ocean eyes.

He swallowed. "Yeah, I'm okay now."

_Now._ She frowned, not sure she liked him to admit somehow he hadn't been fine before. For him to say that aloud meant it had to be a very bad nightmare, and that simple thought scared her even more.

Without noticing what she was doing her fingers ran through his damp hair, stroking the side of his face. "Well, it's okay now." She graced him of a warm smile, and watched with comfort as his sight changed to be firm and more focus on her now.

The pain was wrenching his body, and it was hard to move and think, but the soft brushing of her fingers through his hair was somehow helping him to focus on something else. He let out a tired sigh. "I know. It was just a bad dream; I'm okay now Stella, you don't need to stay." He added, dismissing her. Although he was glad to have her here right now after the terrible images he had seen. He just didn't want her to think that he was weak and screaming at the first nightmare. No, he wanted her to respect him and not pity him, and right now, all he could see was pity toward him in the depth of her emerald eyes. "I'm okay, really." With a small wince, he propped himself up on his elbows to sit and leaned his back against the pillow she had just stuck behind him.

With a tight smile, Stella realized he wanted to be alone, and although she wanted more than anything to help him and sooth his pain, she couldn't go against his will. They had to build back that understanding friendship that had brought them so close so many times, but they couldn't do that in one night. So with regrets, she stood up and gave him a warm smile.

"Alright, but call me if you need anything, okay?"

He gave her a tired smile. "I will."

With that she exited his room and closed the door, leaving him alone once again with his thoughts. He stared at the ceiling, lighted by the orange light of the nightstand lamp. No, he didn't want her to see him weak, though he didn't know where that feeling was coming from, but he was sure of it. He closed his eyes trying to stop the loud hammer pounding in his head but it didn't work. He sighed and as surely as he knew he didn't want her to see him weak, he knew that this night was over. There was no way he was going back to that gloomy, cold hole, never. He was done sleeping for tonight. So instead, he got up, turned off the light, and wobbling, he headed to the window. As he pushed the curtains open, a faint light coming from the streets bathed the room. The move made him shivering as his clad, wet T-shirt gave room over his sweating body to fresh air. Shaking involuntarily, he slumped back heavily against the feet of the bed, his left knee brought to his chest as his right leg lay loosely on the soft carpet. He was exhausted, his mental battle had had the better of him, but he wasn't ready to yield, not yet. Cuddling his throbbing side, he stared at the glowing lights of the city. The night was quiet outside as the snow was falling in heavy bundles. Soon, the snowplows would race the streets, trying with countless efforts to make the streets practical for the New Yorkers. He glanced back at the clock on the nightstand: 12:48 AM. He sighed, the night was going to be long.

_**xxx**_

Danny smashed his fist onto his desk. _Damn it!_ No results so far. How could it be? Why was it they always had a lead with their cases, but not when it happened to concern one of their own? He sighed, remembering how it had been the same with Aiden until Mac had found the missing bit that had allowed them to cuff DJ Pratt. He shook his head, hopeless, but this time Mac wasn't there to help them out. No, he was the one the case was about, and they couldn't get any record from him as his memory was messed up. He cursed; his boss had a memory so vivid and accurate that he remembered how he had listened, stunned, when he had recalled the shooting in the cafe he was in, five years ago. Every detail had been in his report, from the blown pancakes hitting the floor before the syrup to the angle of the shooting, the order of the rounds and even where the slugs had crashed. But this case, it was really the worst scenario they could have come up with, well beside Mac being dead of course. He nodded, but it didn't happen, and he had to focus on that. Though, all the evidence so far had led to one conclusion; Mac had been lured into a trap, a deadly trap, and none of his aggressors had planned on him surviving, which meant that sooner or later they would try again. Danny closed his eyes. But for the moment, Stella was with him, and as long as they would stick together, the earth could crumble beneath their feet, and they'd still survive. He smiled, yeah, his friends were the more resilient in the whole NYPD history. He smirked, well, when you happened to be a former marine and your partner had learned to kick ass in kindergarten as a foster child you could expect them to be tough.

A boyish smile spread over his lips as he remembered the first time they had met, Mac had been very bossy with him during the interview; scolding him and provoking him like a kid, while Stella had remained silent on the couch. He remembered getting up, fed up of Mac's constant teasing about his life, his skills and his commitment to the NYPD. That's when he had turned angrily to Mac and had shown him the real Danny Messer. Of course his friends at the precinct had told him how foolish he was to apply for the crime lab, especially with its current boss, Mac Taylor. That name was enough to make his friends tremble all day. He had never understood them, and that's why he had applied knowing that if that scary boss was half the professional he could convey fear, then he had to work with him.

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, though that day, he had thought he had been wrong when he had started to shout angrily at Mac, accusing him of using his function to rule like a king, and that if he was really that kind of person, he, Danny Messer, didn't want anything to do with him. The funny part was that Mac had found his weakest points in less than five minutes, pierced through his shell and poked at the most tender spot. _Damn wizard, _he had thought at the time. How could a man see through him in so little time? He had no idea, though now after all these years beside his boss, his admiration had never stopped growing.

He remembered how he had felt very confused and admirative of such skills. He, Danny Messer, had prepared the interview for days, trying to lock away his so-called street behavior that people told him was inappropriate and less than five minutes into Mac's office, Mac Taylor had found the key and unlocked the beast without a sweat. So hell had thought Danny at the time, if it had to be like that, then, he would face the wrath of that same beast. Danny smiled, he was young at the time and the words he had thrown at Mac were still ringing in his ears, even now.

_"I came here because I thought I could make a difference here!"_ he had shouted to an impassive Mac. _"But now that I've talked to you, I see you're no different from the ones in our lock up. You're just wearing a nice suit and ruling your world from up here. I'd bet you don't know what being hungry and afraid means. I guess I wanted the guys downstairs to be wrong about you, I thought here, there would be hope for this world, but I was wrong. You're just like the others, another politician with __selfish__issues." _Then he had turned his heels, heading to the door. He had been so wrong at the time about Mac. He sighed. No, his boss had known all about the things he had said, even worse, he reminded himself as he let his eyes closed. When he had finally joined the team it was two years after 9/11 and Mac was still bearing that stern, grim look every time he thought no one was watching him. His gaze lost in some kind of limbo, that him, Danny Messer, hoped he would never have to know. He swallowed hard. Right now, he had no idea how he would cope if Lindsay was to disappear like Claire. As the silence settled in the room, he remembered when Mac had called him back before he could leave his office after that awful interview.

_"Danny,"_ had called Mac, his voice deadly serious, almost like an imperative order.

He remembered how his hand had frozen on the handle, surprise that Mac had used his first name instead of the stern 'Messer' he had been poked with during the interview.

_"Danny, please sit down,"_ Mac had asked his tone much warmer, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

And Danny had turned bewildered eyes toward his future boss, not sure how a man could change that fast from the perfect dictator to someone so charismatic in the next, communication becoming his second nature. So that was that, the threatening dragon Mac Taylor, the power to be aggressive and turned charming the next. Without exactly knowing why, Danny's anger had faded, and he had sat back. _"You can't bribe me,"_ he had thrown, almost triumphantlyto a smirking Mac.

A smile had then grazed Mac's face. _"I know."_ He had glanced then to Stella, exchanging a complicit smile. _"Well, Stella, I guess I told you so," _he had said, a broad, triumphant smile lighting his face.

Danny had watched the exchange between the two, not sure of what was really happening. Stella had nodded with a smile and shot a glance at him.

_"Sorry, it's my fault Danny," _she had then said, seeming really embarrassed.

_"For what? I don't understand?" _his brows had furrowed, wondering.

_"Well,"_ had begun Mac, his gaze returning on him._ "Let's say, some non so-friends of yours had made sure your file arrived with all the black marks on my desk."_

Danny shook his head. _"What black marks? I mean, I know I'm not perfect, but I haven't done anything illegal."_

Mac had smirked. _"No, nothing illegal Danny. But you sure know how to step on the wrong toes."_ He had sighed. _"And I must say, it's not a very clever move in this world, especially when you have to work with them afterwards."_

Stella had huffedfrom the couch, her arms crossed over her chest. _"Yeah, says the man who doesn't want to bow before politics."_ Stella had then thrown a complicit look to Danny.

_"Alright,"_ had admitted Mac. Then he had thrown a boyish smile to his partner. _"You see Danny, Stella here, needed proofs she would be able to work with a street kid like you. She thought that maybe our training had cleaned up all your instincts, and that you were going too much by the book, pushing people aside along the way for your own career."_

Stella had then shot him a furious look, before giving a charming smile to Danny. _"Well, I was wrong, obviously. Glad you picked him up, Mac."_ Then, she had stood up. _"So, diner's on me tonight, that is, if you can finish before the next day starts."_

_"Funny,"_ had smirked Mac as Danny and him had watched her leave.

_"Wow, she's amazin'." _

_"Yeah, the same pain in the ass you are. Making three of us I guess for this team," _had added Mac with a smirk.

_"Three? You're hiring me?"_ asked Danny stunned by the sudden change of situation.

_"Unless you don't want the job, I'd made up my mind a long time before you pushed open that door, Danny. Sorry for this little test, but Stella is my second in command and I wanted her to know the real you. With time you'll learn to appreciate her as well, I'm sure."_ He had glanced back at the file in front of him, closing it and tossing it in one of his drawers, before he stood up and circled his desk to lean on it before Danny, taking a more relaxed posture. _"So, here we work with honesty first. Of course we follow the proper chain of command and procedures as lives depend on us. But I don't expect you to get political on me. Or I swear I'll kick your sorry ass out of here." _His tone rising at the last part, but still affecting a big grin on his face_. "So, do we have a deal?"_

Danny had shaken his head, so happy to be able to work in the crime lab. With a broad smile he had shaken Mac's hand. Finally, his bad confrontation with Mac had been just a trick, and after all these years working with Mac, he understood now, that Mac had sent him a precious message along the way. It was true that at the time, he was trying so hard to make a career and ripped the image of the streets he came from so much, even adopting a suit for some time. But now, he realized Mac had given him the opportunity to stand and face the world without a mask. To Mac, it had never mattered where he'd come from, or what he did before as long as he was striving to serve the people of this country, and as long as he stayed true to the real Danny Messer.

Yeah, their first meeting had been among his best memories. He frowned. Would Mac remember that or would he have forgotten about it too? A small lump formed in Danny's throat as he began to realize the extend of what losing his memory implied for his friend; like not being able to recognize your friends, losing every bond you had spent so much time to build, the bond you cherished one day, had vanished the next._ Oh God. _What was going to happen to them all without Mac?

With sorrow, he watched the dark night spread over the glowing city, the snow still falling heavily on the city. Tomorrow the road would be less crowded and people would probably try to warm themselves by huddling into the underground life of the city. His hand brushed his golden hair aimlessly, sadness filling his being. If Mac was falling, Stella would be next, and sure as he was proud of his work in the Crime Lab, he would quit too. He sighed, hoping Stella would be able to help him.

_**xxx**_

A brave sun pierced through the cloudy, grey sky, trying vainly to bring warmth to the sleeping city below. But its fight was lost as a growing wind brought more black clouds adding thick layers to the mistalready covering New York. Mac watched with tired eyes, as the sun lost its battle against the clouds and the sky grew darker. He frowned; his mood too wasn't ready to lighten up. He sighed, glancing at the alarm clock, 5:42. Soon, Stella would be up, and if she discovered him like that she would have a pretty good idea of what his night had been like. He sighed not sure he wanted to move, but the alternative, Stella finding him sat at the foot of his bed, wasn't something his instinct wanted to show her, though he had no idea why. During the night, he had finally found that being in that position was keeping the pressure away from his wounds, and now, the simple idea of moving and feeling the pain hurt again was not something he welcomed happily, but he had to. So, before Stella could run into him like that, he took support on the edge of the bed, and stood up. His legs shook a bit at first, but soon, he was able to turn around the bed, and went to liewhere he should have spent the night. With a wince and a painful grunt, he let his head sank slowly into the fluffy pillow, and closed his eyes. A small sighed escaped his lips as he felt his body finally relax.

As he was dozing off, a soft knock at his door warned him Stella was awake. Rubbing his face he answered her, and was greeted by his almost, clear voice escaping his lips. "Come on in," he said a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, at last his voice was coming back.

A smiling face popped out from the door ajar. "You awake?"

He smirked. "I guess." He glanced at the alarm clock and frowned, 7:03. So he did sleep a small hour actually, though it hadn't felt like it.

"Are you up for breakfast?" She queried.

"Well, if you don't try to stuff me like a damn turkey, I might eat a bit." He teased, suddenly in a playful mood as his voice had returned to his normal tune.

She shot him a fake, hurt look. "Ah, Mac. You know you had never eaten well, anyway. You can't fault me on trying to fix that while you're here, right?" She replied with a hint of amusement.

He sighed with a small laugh. "I guess not."

"You should go shower while I prepare our food." She stated, her chin pointing at his new stuble growing messily over his cheeks.

Rubbing his hand on the rough beard, he looked at her. "Nah, I'll pass for today."

She stared at him, a crease back on her forehead. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, just eager to go, I guess," he lied. His side was hurting like hell, and his shoulder was burning and itching too. So frankly he didn't think a shower would help him with that, though he was sure he would be worn out in few hours if he was spending his small reserve in the bathroom, fighting to keep his wounds dry while battling to undress and then dress. No; better to skip it this morning and go directly to step two, his place. Though, even with a shower, he had no dressings to cover his raw wounds and with the water, it would only hurt more, and he didn't want to ask Stella to help him. He sure started to feel more at ease with her, but not to the point of her playing nurse with him. His face suddenly blushed at the thought and he wondered why he was feeling as if he was nineteen again.

"I see," Stella answered, not buying his lie, but too far away to see his flushed face. There was nothing she could do if he didn't want to get a shower. "Then, I'll go make coffee."

On these words, she closed his door, and headed to the kitchen, wondering what could happen again today. She sighed, the doc had warned her that things wouldn't be simple. She smirked as she opened the fridge, surely she hadn't thought that things could really get complicated with Mac. _Nope, not him._ She realized now, how much she had counted on him in her life, somehow he had always managed to make troubling things very clear when she was in the fog. She nodded, but now it was her turn to help him find his way back out of that thick mist, and she would.

He heard her footsteps fading as she was probably heading to the kitchen. With a small grimace, he pushed the blanket off his aching body and pulled off his sweat pants to slide into a pair of jeans. Soon he would have to get some fresh clothes from his apartment. He smiled and that could just be the best excuse to go check out where he lived. Keeping the idea in mind, he changed into his navy sweater, and headed to the kitchen, the roasted smell of fresh, brewedcoffee leading him straight to Stella.

"Take a seat, Mac," Stella said without even looking at him as he entered the kitchen.

He frowned, realizing she had probably heard him a long time before he entered as he was still limping and making a lot of noise with his poor rasping breath. He sighed, focusing on the fact that this was just temporary. Soon, he would be back to normal physically, and hopefully, mentally too.

He sat at the table, hoping this time she hadn't forgotten about his small appetite, but watched with worry as it wasn't gonna happen when she brought a steaming pan and slid two eggs and a few pieces of fried bacon onto his plate. "You know, a cup of coffee would have been great before I can't swallow anything."

"I know it would work on your daily fix, but have you taken a good look at yourself, Mac? I'm ready to bet you lost at least five pounds since the hospital."

His brows creased; it was true that he felt a bit loose in this clothes, if they belonged to him, anyway. So he decided that for once since he had met her, maybe he could try to act a bit nicer. After all, he had been more than a jerk with her, although she hadn't really backed down to it, thanks to her stubborn character. He sighed, taking his fork. Then, he picked bit after bit into the warm eggs, eyeing suspiciously the box of pills she had settled next to his plate. Even if he was feeling more comfortable with Stella, he wasn't ready to give up on his freedom, and these pills were right now his main obstacles between him and his freedom.

Stella smiled as she watched with pleasure, Mac swallowing, slowly his food. Although he still had heavy, dark bags under his eyes, he seemed to have more energy than the day before; a bigger smile spread even further on her face when she saw him opening the small box and takes the necessary pills. Then she turned her back to him to put the pan aside near the sink, and grabbed her own plate before she sat in front of him. She felt hope building up inside her heart as he gulped down his glass of water, swallowing his pills. A big smile spread over her face. _Things are going to be alright. Even if Mac seems tired, he's taking his medication to help him control his PTSD. He's going to be okay, now. _

_**xxx**_

Tommy rubbed his hands together, trying to get some warmth back from his cold, numb fingers. He grumbled angrily a curse as he glanced at Martin, sound asleep in the driver's seat. He sighed that cold was making him crazy, and waiting to see what those cops were going to do was getting on his nerves. A small cloud escaped his lips as he turned toward Stella's building, his eyes stuck on the entrance. He snorted as he saw a kid around fourteen coming out with three dogs on the leash, two were almost as tall as him, and the third one was a basset. He smirked when the three dogs began to jump over the big chunks of frozen snow spread over the curb and the kid was pulled forward unexpectedly, losing his footing and ending up face first in that same chunk of snow. A small giggle came out of Tommy's throat as his eyes were delighting in the boy's misery, trying to rise to his feet while the dogs were pulling back into the snow.

With a snort, Martin stirred and shot an angry glance at his brother. Even now, his brother was unable to be quiet. He sighed, hoping this assignment to be over soon and that he could finish Taylor ASAP.

"Are they movin' yet?" he asked his voice still slurring from the sleep.

"Nah! They're still in their nest. Dunno why that chick is always stickin' with him." Tommy glanced at Martin. "Ya know I'll be happy when we'll get outa here. It's always cold, here. I liked it when we were in Georgia, Marty."

"Yeah, sure. So much that ya got us in trouble after the first month. What ya have done if I haven't been there to take care of that girl? Huh? Nah, here it's good, like that ya won't go runnin' for those chicks," replied Martin as he sat up in the driver seat and rubbed his face, shoving off the remaining sleep pressing his eyelids.

Tommy sighed, his eyes back to the entrance. The sun was already up and shining through the thick layer of grey clouds. The white snow glistened under the thin rays trying vainly to pierce through the dark sky. He grumbled another curse as he watched helplessly at the small, white flakes starting to fall again and beginning to cover the windshield. Then, to his delight, he caught the sight of the two detectives going out of the parking lot as their black SUV turned into the main avenue. Tommy smiled wickedly as he turned to Martin.

"Got 'em bro!" He exclaimed as he pointed towards the black SUV skidding on the icy street.

"Well, hopefully we'll get some news for the boss this time," mumbled Martin between his sleepy lips as he started the engine and began to pull away from the curb.

_**xxx**_

Once again, the trip to wherever Stella was leading them was long and silent, though this time it wasn't because they had fought, but more because of him being really tired, though he wasn't going to tell her that, or he could kiss goodbye to his little trip. Mac glanced at the window and watched as the frozen, snowy streets passed with each traffic light. Though the city was still stuck in a giant, frozen shell, the New Yorkers were still outside, walking down the curbs, but this time, they had wisely opted for heavy, snow boots. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, it was amazing how snow could change a whole city and yet, its economy and way of life wouldn't be altered, or changed him for what really matters. He had no memory of the city other than covered with snow, and he wondered if he was going to remember anything at all. It has been three days now that he could recount, and two without those damn pills that he had managed to hide in his pocket, so by now his concussion should be gone, and he should have been able to remember, but so far nothing, and that was really frustrating.

"Are you going to be okay, Mac?" asked Stella, as she gave him a worried glance.

He turned to her, pasting a reassuring smile to his face. "Yeah, don't worry I could fight a bull today." Silently he prayed that he wouldn't have to, cause right now, his side was hurting like hell, pain soaring through his body and to his right shoulder. If only he remembered which pill was the painkiller at least he would have tried those, but he didn't, so he decided to keep the pain inside. Until he learns more about Stella and his life, it would have to work like this.

She watched sadly, as she had noticed his slight winces. "Sure you can, though I'm sure I'll have to stitch you back in one piece after that." She teased.

He huffed as if he was offended. So now she could read him? "You should know better than to think so little of me."

Stella tightened her lips. Although their conversation was refreshingly playing like they used to, she didn't want to make the same mistake twice; he wasn't remembering anything, and that fact only could lead their friendly talk into a bad argument. So before it could turn bad, she focused on the road and engaged on another subject. She could bet he was on pain, but that subject too was off limits, although she had to fight her heart not to turn around and oblige him to take a good day to rest. "We're almost there."

"Where?" he asked, wondering if he was going to remember anything. He looked up at the silver towers trying to reach the white, snowy sky over him. Then, he saw it. His gut twisted inside him as he realized where she had led him. He swallowed, hoping she had been right all along, because if she hadn't, if, in fact, he was right, then, today would be his last day as a free man.

"Come on, Mac." Stella called as she exited the SUV. But as he wasn't moving, his sight stuck on the giant board that read: New York Crime Lab, she realized that he was fighting internally. "You're home, Mac. Don't worry," she added with a warm tone.

He turned to her, a look of uncertainty painted on his pale face. _Now or never. _Then he glanced again at the tall, silver building before he jumped out of the car, his boots crushing the brown, dirty sludge frozen during the night. As he crossed the street with Stella, he couldn't suppress his nervousness sparkling in every part of his body. It was like being plugged to a giant battery. He was both nervous and excited to discover pieces of his identity, but at the same time, if it was a trap, then, he was walking willingly straight into it. He glanced nervously at Stella now by his side, her hand had slowly made its way to his arm, and without knowing it, she was patting his right shoulder as to reassure him. He sighed. Or to be sure he wasn't running away, his suspicious mind added. He took a deep breath as they entered the hall, his heart pounding fast in his chest, a small voice repeating that he was walking into a trap. Swallowing back the unjustified fear nestled in the pit of his stomach, he walked toward the lifts with a stiff pace.

"Nice to see you Sir, Ma'am," called a tall uniformed guard as he saluted Mac and Stella.

Mac nodded, feeling somehow some of his anxiety fading, but as they stepped into the lift and the door closed, he had to close his eyes again. Pressure weighed suddenly a thousand pound on his shoulders as he was back in that damn hole, trapped underneath the panel, unable to breathe as his lungs were about to explode. Then, the darkness was replaced by screams and yelling around him as he was drowned into a giant, dust cloud, and he couldn't breathe anymore, his lungs burning but before he choked on the grainy dust, a voice called him.

"Mac," called Stella, beside him, feeling anxious. "You okay?" Her eyes were darting a thousand questions into his, though she tried to remain as calm as possible. She couldn't let her fear submerge her, not when her partner needed her.

As he opened his eyes, he realized she was staring at him; obvious fear in her green emerald eyes was matching his. His back stuck to the wall, he felt his legs slightly shaking under him. He frowned, trying to catch his breath and compose a better face.

Stella watched as beads of sweat ran down from his temples and to his neck. His face was glistening lightly as if he had run a marathon, and his chest was rising too fast for someone who had just walked inside an elevator. Without a word, she pressed on the stop button as they were almost at the CSI level. He stared back at her, a deep crease wrinkling his forehead wondering what she was doing. But before he could ask anything, she pulled a small, white tissue from her purse and handed it to him. Whatever had just happened to him, she knew he wouldn't want to look vulnerable in any way in front of his team. As for what he had felt, she carefully memorized it, promising herself that they would have to talk about it as soon as they would be back home. One minute he was fine, and the next she had felt him freaking out for no apparent reason. It had to be his PTSD. _Damn it!_ That thing was closing on him and she had no solution to help him.

Without a word Mac, took the white fabric from her hand and wiped his sweating face, blinking as to shave the dark images still lingering in his mind. Then, he straightenedup, his will ordering his legs not to give out yet. He nodded to Stella, thankful for her attention as he stuffed the fabric inside his pocket. He really started to like her being close to him. As she pressed on the button to let the lift continue, going to its destination, she softly slid her left hand in his, and gave him a reassuring squeeze before the doors opened and she broke apart, not wanting to embarrass him in front of his team.

He sighed silently when her fingers left the contact of his. Somehow it had felt good to feel someone else's warmth. More confident than he had been in the last couples of days, he stepped out of the lift, hoping for the best as he had the strong reassurance that whatever happened, he would never be left alone, not as long as Stella was with him.

_**xxx**_

He sighed. They had entered the Crime Lab almost an hour ago, and still he hadn't seen any of them through his monitor, meaning Taylor and his chick were still wandering inside the building but haven't got to his office yet. He glanced by the window, watching the slow motion of the white flakes gradually covering the frozen street.

Then the door of the passenger seat opened and his brother slumped heavily in the seat, mumbling something about the damn, frozen snow before he closedthe door. With a dark stare to his brother, Tommy handed him a cup of steaming coffee before he got the top of his own out and began to sip the burning liquid. His lips pursed in delight as the hot liquid began to warm his body.

"Are they movin' yet," he asked between two sips.

"No, it seems his chick is making him do the grand tour." Martin's voice was filled with anger and impatience. Second day they have been tailing them, and nothing in particular had provoked the boss to stop this game of cat and mouse, though Martin didn't complain, he needed more information to get to his plan B, and so far, neither Taylor or his chick had provided him with valuable intel. He sighed, this could last for days.

He glanced at Tommy who was nervously churning in his seat. If he didn't find any real action for his brother soon, he was afraid he could blow up anywhere, and honestly Martin preferred to be far from him when it would happen. He looked back at the small black and white screen of his laptop. The bug he had placed in Taylor's office four weeks ago had been so expensive that he had opted for a black and white picture, but now he was beginning to regret it; staring at a pale screen was even more boring than listening to his brother's whining about the cold.

He glanced back at his watch: 11:24AM. Soon Tommy would complain again because he was hungry. Martin sighed, already knowing the argument that would come up. He wondered why in his life he had to have a brother like that. Suddenly his thoughts were back to the screen as his older brother pointed at something. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he saw why Tommy had become so agitated: Taylor and his chick had just entered his office. _Finally_.

_**xxx**_

"Well, finally, here we are," stated triumphantly Stella as she opened the glass door to Mac's office.

"And what is here?" asked a bewildered Mac.

"Your office Mac. As I promised you yesterday, here it's where we worked together. Well, more you than me obviously cause it's your office, but since I come in yours more often, well kinda a lot happened here." She tightened her lips, not realizing she had just been about to talk about their last argument. _Oh God,_ she hoped he wouldn't remember that right now. _Please, anything else but that._

Fortunately for Stella, Mac gazed at the wall displaying pictures of him in his marine uniform, and awards and medals earned for distinguished behavior on the battle line. He frowned. So everything she had told him the first day was true. Cops wouldn't have played him and created him a life he had never had just for a handful of information, he wasn't that important, though judging by all the eyes secretly glancing at him when he had visited the lab, a lot of people here obviously knew him. A small smile tugged at his lips, so he was among the good guys. He swallowed the hard knot still in his throat and began to relax. He just needed to remember now, and maybe he'd soon feel like home. He felt the warm pressure of Stella's hand patting his right shoulder.

"Remember anything?" she asked softly, her voice full of hope.

He shook his head, unable to stare at her. After all she had done for him, he behaving like the perfect jerk, she was still with him, trying to comfort him. She was really his best friend. Any normal person would have run away after his first outburst, but not her, she had stuck to him, and he was glad she had. He was about to turn toward her when the door behind them opened. A young voice startled them.

"Gosh, Mac?" came Danny's voice. "I can't believe you're back and Stella didn't tell me," he voiced, his eyes scolding playfully at Stella.

But before Stella could answer, it was Mac that spoke first.

His eyes squinted at Danny as he spoke. "You're Messer, right?" he asked with the sudden realization that he seemed to recognize the guy from somewhere, and then the name had popped into his mind. He stared with a frown at the young, blond man supporting his weight on a cane as he wasn't answering. Maybe it wasn't his name, maybe he just got it all wrong. He was about to give up when he saw a broad smile spread over the young man's face.

"You remember me? Mac, God..." Danny's voice trailed off as he closed the distance with his friend and wrapped his arms around his boss.

Mac, surprised of Danny's behavior, swung a bit as the young man hugged him. He suppressed a wince as the hug lasted, pressing on his cracked ribs, but he couldn't ask Danny to let go. The young guy seemed to need the hug more than him, and obviously if they were friends he didn't want to make the same mistake he had done with Stella. _Not twice._ So he scrunched his face and waited for Danny to let go.

But his hidden winces didn't remain unnoticed by Stella and she noted them carefully for an after talk with him. His winces, his panic attack, all were bad signs of something going on. Stella sighed, it could mean only two things; one, he wasn't recovering as planned; and two his PTSD was gaining ground on him. So either way, it wasn't good news. She tightened her lips, observing more closely her partner.

"Yes," finally managed to breathe out Mac as Danny released his grip and took a good look at his friend.

The young CSI frowned as he noticed Mac's way to stand, his right arm carefully nestled to protect his side. His face was pale and grim, although his left side looked more colorful from the purple bruised crawling from his temple to his brown, disheveled hair, and his usual strong, unyielding gaze was replaced by a look of uncertainty, as if he was trying to make sense of all the things going on around him. Danny's heart squeezed in his chest, even he, could see what his memory loss and attempted murder had done to his boss. _God,_ _he looks like hell._ Then, his mind brought him an unexpected question. _Did I look like that after I lost my legs? God, no wonder Lindsay was so freaked out. _"What else do you remember?" asked eagerly the young CSI, trying not to show his own discomfort at Mac's frail silhouette.

Mac frowned racking his mind for more information. "You're a Detective, work here since 2003." Danny nodded at each new thing Mac was adding. "You're married to a Lindsay Monroe, have a little girl," he paused looking down for more information. "Her name is Lucy and you're turning 32 in two months." His lips finally let out. He couldn't but smile lightly. His memory was coming back.

A wide grin spread on Danny's and Stella's faces. "Yeah, big Mac, you're back," he answered as he patted a bit too roughly at Mac's left shoulder, which made him hide another wince again. Danny glanced at Stella before his sight went back to Mac, more serious this time. "So, how ya feelin', boss?" He had to ask, Mac had to be okay to be here, otherwise Stella wouldn't have brought him here, though he really looked beat.

Mac chuckled at the word. _Boss?_ "I guess I could say better, now." _Which isn't entirely wrong_, he added for himself. In fact, he was feeling better since they had arrived at the Crime Lab, well beside his showdown in the lift, of course.

Danny sighed with relieve. "I got to admit I was scared, Mac, ya know? This job isn't the same without you, though you have to take care of yourself first before thinking of coming back, alright. As I said to Stella, we guys can hold the fort for some time." Danny stuffed his hand into his jeans' pocket, supporting his weight on his good leg.

"Thanks Messer, I appreciate." Mac gave him a small smile and went back to his desk. Now that he could remember Messer, he wondered who or what else he could remember. Forgetting the people around him, he started to rummage through the first drawer, looking for something that could trigger another memory, eager to be back to who he should be.

Danny glanced at Stella, feeling suddenly uneasy, Mac's last words still ringing in his ears: 'Messer'. That was odd, Mac had never called him like that since their first meeting, and even that day had only been to provoke him. He frowned, it was weird, but then the guy had been through a lot lately, and maybe it was his way to cope with everything. Shaving his doubts away, Danny watched with a small smile as Mac was looking through a pile of sheets, Stella strangely quiet next to him.

"Huh, Stella," called Danny. "About the case, ya know." It was weird to have to talk about his boss' case in front of him, but if Mac had taught him something all these years, it was that they had a job to do, no matter what their feelings were.

"It's alright Danny, Mac knows."

Intrigued Mac abandoned his search for a moment and watched the silent conversation between Messer and Stella, wondering if it was what she was hiding from him. But his hopes quickly faded as he realized Messer was only talking about his case.

"We got nothing so far from the ruins as the NYFD hadn't cleared the place yet, and no one is allowed access." He paused, seeing the small hope fading in Stella's eyes. "Hawkes and Lindsay are still processing Mac's car, and I haven't found anything concrete on his clothes. I mean there was too many things, and since you washed yourself into that puddle of water a lot of traces had been cleared that way." Danny gave an apologetic look at his boss. "Sorry Mac, we have no leads." The young man seemed embarrassed.

Mac's lips tightened at the memory of his frozen hole. "Well for the water I didn't have the choice. But it's okay, one more hole in this giant puzzle isn't gonna stop us, right Messer?" Threw a confident Mac, although he wasn't at all. Deep inside he wondered when and how this whole crazy thing was going to finish. It was so unsettling to meet people that seemed to know more about him than himself. And now he had the feeling that even Stella was looking at him suspiciously. _What's wrong again? Something I'd said or done?_ But then, he dropped the idea. He couldn't wonder every time she would frown. No, so instead he looked back at his desk, searching for something to trigger his memory. He would deal with her on time.

"Yeah, sure," answered Danny with a frown, still intrigued about Mac calling him by his last name. It felt so odd. The man in front of him was Mac, his boss and friend, he could swear it. And yet, at the same time, it wasn't, as if there was a missing bit. _C'mon Danny boy, he remembers you, isn't it great already?_ Danny shrugged. _So give him a break, will ya?_ Hell, if he had lost his memory like Mac maybe he would be doing more weird things than calling his friends by their first name.

"Thanks Danny," said Stella as Mac was back rummaging through his desk.

Deciding that his friend was looking way better now than when they had pulled him from the ruins, and that he probably needed some privacy, Danny exited Mac's office with a small wink of support at Stella.

But as Stella nodded to Danny to reassure him, and watched him leave, she wasn't that confident about Mac. Sure she was thrilled that he remembered Danny, but something in his behavior was odd, though she couldn't put a finger on it.

"So, you remember?" she began with a warm smile as she sat on a corner of his desk to face him.

He sighed loudly as he slumped down into the chair behind him, his green, ocean gaze showing deep signs of tiredness. "It's still a blur, but yeah, I think I remember; this office and some people who work here." He raised a pair of tired eyes to her. "I remember things about you." He spoke softly and watched as a broad smile lightened her face.

"You do? Mac, that's great," she exclaimed. "See, the doc was right. Your concussion is probably fading and with your medication kicking now, I bet you gonna feel better in no time." She tried to cheer him up, and herself by the same occasion, because he really didn't look that well. Even though he was remembering things, there was something in his eyes that told her otherwise.

"Yeah," he replied with a tight smile, though the drugs had nothing to do with his state, he added mentally. In fact, he was beginning to be suspicious about it, since his memory was way better when he wasn't taking any. Which raised another question: if his memory was better without the drugs, why the hell did he have to take them, and more important, what was inside? Why Stella was so insisting that he take them if it wasn't for his memory? His shoulders tensed under the new implications. He knew her, well not really, but he could remember working with her, though he wasn't feeling the deep bond she said they had, neither with that guy, Messer. It was odd, but he just didn't feel a thing for these people. Maybe, he had always played friends with them but had always remained alone. Maybe she was the one thinking they were friends. He sighed, yeah maybe, but there was something odd anyway and he could bet Stella knew about it, which was pulling her at the top rank of his warning list.

"Mac," she called with a frown, pulling him out of his reverie. "You're sure, you alright?"

"Yeah, just a bit tired, I suppose." He wanted to avoid her questions. Whatever was going on, he had decided she wasn't truthful with him. Until she could prove him wrong, and show him she wasn't hiding anything from him, he intended to keep her at bay as much as possible.

She smiled warmly. "Maybe we should go home. The doc hasn't granted you to come back to work anyway."

He let out a small breath of disappointment. Two hours out, and she was already leading him back to his golden cage. He looked at her with suspicion, but she was right, and he was really feeling tired. "Alright, but I'd like to stop by my apartment to pick up some fresh clothes before."

Stella tensed at Mac's proposal. His apartment was among the dangerous place for him to go to, right now. Until he had dealt with his PTSD, the place had to be avoided at all cost, too many painful memories could trigger a bad phase for him. She sighed, his last days with Claire had been there, as well as the long days he had spent trying to make sense of his life after her death.

"Maybe another day," she replied, not sure how long she would be able to make them avoid his apartment.

"Okay." Mac's jaws tightened, although his voice sounded casual. He had caught Stella cringing after his proposal, and it was clear now that she was hiding something from him, and obviously it was related to his apartment. Why was she trying to avoid it? What was there that he shouldn't see? He felt his doubts about her coming back with more violence and fury, although it made no sense, not after all she had done. He shouldn't feel that angry after her, not with this rage anyway. Okay, she had been right about his job and position, and now he was sure she was hiding things from him, so how could he be sure of her at all? A deep feeling of loneliness shrouded him at the same time. He felt the urgent need to get away from all of this. He sighed, unfortunately she wasn't going to let him wander in the city by himself. He clenched his fists, turning to face the giant windows behind him. He didn't want her to see the inner turmoil that inhabited him, especially not the smoldering rage that was consuming him right now. He needed to get away from her, from this, from everything, but how?

Stella watched with a frown as Mac turned his back to her. That wasn't a good sign. She frowned, every time he had done that, it had been right before he opened up or admited a big difficulty ahead. But right now, he shouldn't think this way, his memory was coming back, and he was healing, slowly, but healing, so what was going on? And what about him having no choice with that frozen water in the ruins? Why had he hiden this way? For a shelter? That didn't make any senses. He would have known that the freezing water would diminish his chances of survival. A young, shy voice behind them interrupted her thoughts.

"Hey, Stella? Mac?" Echoed Adam's timid voice. "I didn't know you guys were back. Wow." He stepped inside Mac's office. "How you feelin' Boss?"

Mac turned to look at the new arrival. The man before him was dressed in a pair of light, blue jeans and loose, dark, green shirt, his red hair messy and continuing in a small beard. In his hand he was holding some kind of laptop tablet, and he plastered a timid smile as he entered his office. Images flashed in his mind as Mac eyed the kid, then, a name popped up in his mind again.

"Ross, right?" he threw, just to check the name.

"Huh, yeah, that's right Boss. It's great, you're feelin' better, so. I guess bad guys should have known that you have a thick head. Huh?" he smiled at his joke but then his eyes opened wide when he realized what else he had implied and seeing Mac's frown growing. "Well, I didn't mean that you're stubborn or not listening to us or something like that," rambled Adam, as a deep frown creased his face, realizing his words were just making things worse. "Not that you never admitted it when you were wrong, or that you ignored us," he continued, pronouncing each word slowly. His breath came in short rasps, still displaying a weak smile. "Huh, I mean, someone in your position has to show strength and..." he glanced at Stella, his eyes pleading her to intervene before he had dug a big hole beneath him.

She smiled playfully as she cut him off. "You came for something Adam?"

"Oh, God, yeah, thanks." He nodded to Stella, breathing lightly, and visibly too happy to change the conversation noted Mac. "I have the results from the hair Hawkes found in your car, Boss. He took us a while as the DNA was degraded by some kind of chemical, and it wasn't in our database, but Hawkes told me to try overstate, and after I compared it to something like ten millions or something like that..." his voice trailed off, as his eyes looked up as if he was seeing an imaginary equation before him.

"Adam," cut Stella as the young lab tech was losing himself in his statistics. She couldn't bear anymore that wait. She cursed herself for snapping at the young lab tech, but she had to know if finally they had a lead, and seeing how Mac had walked tensed to join them, she could bet he was waiting for it more than her. She sighed, hoping that this new Mac wasn't going to jump at Adam's throat to extract him his precious information. But instead she saw his fists clenched by his side, waiting.

"Sorry." Adam shot an apologetic look at Mac, as he had guessed his boss was running out of patience. "Well, we have a match. I was looking for Danny, but since you're here."

Mac frowned, stepping closer to take a look at the tablet Adam had handed to Stella.

"Thomas Jeremy Medriano," read Stella. "Born in Talahassee in 1972, convicted of small robberies. Assault on a police officer in '92; aggravated assault five months later on a girl." She glanced at Mac with worries. "Suspected in a rape case, in Atlanta three years ago, but released without charge as the victim withdrew her complain. Has spent five years at Fulton County Jail, Altanta, for killing a man after he beat him to death." Her eyes opened wide. "Wow, sounds like the perfect charming man," she quipped, trying to light the portrait, although the words; 'beat to death' were still ringing in her ears. Was it what they had tried to do with Mac? Beat him to death and get him buried under a stack of broken bricks.

Mac smirked as she handed him the tablet.

"You recognize him?"

Mac stared at the picture, frowning. A tall, blond man who could have played defense for the Saints seeing the size of his shoulders, appeared on the small screen. "No, doesn't ring a bell, sorry," he gave back the tablet to Adam and watched as Stella was deep in her thoughts.

She sighed. "At least we have his address, its downtown. Okay, Adam you keep digging."

The young lab tech nodded as he glanced shyly at Mac before he left, a nervous smile on his face.

"I'll call Flack and then we can go home, like that you'll have..." she began pulling her cell phone and heading out of his office.

"Don't need to," cut Mac, as she stopped dead to look at him with a frown. Finally, he had a lead to understand what had happened to him; he wasn't going back home, no way. He had to find out who this Medriano was.

"What..." she replied in dread.

"No, we're going to check that address," he said, confirming her fears.

Mac watched as Stella's look changed from worry to fear. "Not a good idea, Mac. The doc hasn't cleared you yet, and if we find this guy and he's the one that put you into..." she sighed unable to finish these painful words. How could she tell him that she wasn't ready to lose him? Not today, not tomorrow, never.

"No Stella, I'm fed up of waiting and playing sick. I'm okay and we're going, period."

"Period? Mac you're not running this lab right now." She pointed out, and besides he was too damn tired for her to let him go chasing the guy that may have tried to kill him, and almost succeeded, she mentally added with horror. "No, Mac we're not...."

"I'm the boss, right? Right?" he cut her off, a smoldering anger burning behind his words as his face became crimson within minutes. His eyes blazed from an inner fire she had never seen before and his knuckles whitened as he was containing his rage.

Stella stepped back not use to see this amount of rage inside his normally, peaceful eyes. "Yes, but the doc hasn't..."

"The hell with your doctor. I'm going; you can either come along or go home, I don't care. But I'll get answers," he voiced in anger as he stormed out of his office.

She watched with fear as Mac left. _Not this time, Mac. I'm not letting you go._ He was visibly too pissed off to back down, she realized. Sure, he said he was okay. _Yeah, right._ She knew him too well to know when he was okay. And right now, he was tired and on the verge of crumbling on his legs, though he had smartly managed to hide it. But she knew the signs; his way to stand, his bad temper coming to the surface, all of these were screaming that he wasn't fine. Rushing after him, she caught him in the elevator; her foot stopping the doors before they closed on him. She jumped inside, pissed off as well, but managed to take a long breath before she spoke again. Even if she knew he was wrong, she couldn't provoke an argument that could trigger a PTSD episode or worst; him leaving alone to get this guy. Last time had brought too much suffering for both of them.

"And how do you plan to get there, Mac, huh?" Her voice taking a more neutral tone, though anger was still pulsing beneath her temples.

"I'll get a cab," he replied, tension still palpable in his voice.

She sighed, her arms dropping limply to her sides as she gave up. "I'm coming with you," she finally tossed in the now quiet lift. "But right after that, we head straight back home, okay?" Her tone was firm, implying she wasn't giving him the choice. But deep down, she hoped that he would listen to reason and compromise as well.

"I don't need to be babysat, Stella," he grumbled as he leaned on the wall, his showdown starting to wear off, and with it, his well useful angry strength. _Damn it!_ If he was tired now, what about when they would be there. He locked his green, ocean eyes with hers. "I can take care of myself."

She shrugged with anger. "Damn it, Mac! It's not the point. I just want you to let me help you. Let me help for once. I'm your friend. I know you don't remember everything, I saw how you behaved with Danny a minute ago, but please don't shut me down. I'm here to help." Her eyes begged him to listen to her, as her tone had gone from firm and incisive to almost pleading.

He bit his bottom lip. Maybe she was right. Maybe she could be of some help. He tensed involuntarily. Having her beside him had somehow helped him since he had found himself lost in the labyrinth of his brain. _Maybe she's right, _whispered his tired brain. He sighed a bit too loudly which didn't escape at Stella as she stared at him, waiting for his answer.

"You're driving," he dropped as the doors opened on the parking lot, knowing that, without saying it, he was giving her back some control over himself. He hoped his trust wouldn't be misplaced, but either way, he wasn't going to show her his back now that he had the proof that she was hiding things from him.

Without answering, Stella walked to the car, deep in her thoughts. Going to get Medriano was a bit risky, especially with Mac not totally himself and most of all, unarmed, but she didn't have a choice now, did she? She glanced at Mac as he climbed in the SUV with a wince. She shook her head with worries. No, surely this wasn't a good idea.

_...TBC

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**A/N:**I know another tensed cliffie, sorry. Again, thanks for reading and don't forget to let me know what you thought of this chapter...

_Remember An Najaf_ coming up this weekend


	12. 3 out of 3

**A/N:** Well, I'm really sorry for this delays, and I hope you're still with me on this story. As always thanks to all who reviewed and put this fic or me in their fav or alerts. It helped a lot to keep this working and coming. This chapter should have come sooner this week, but again I got a hell of a week, so it's only now that I can post it .

And again, a great thanks to my beta Blackdragon189.

**Summary:** A man finds a body. When he picks up the ID in the coat, it reads "Detective first grade Mac Taylor". Is Mac really dead? What will Stella do when she'll learn the news? Angsty Smacked... with team friendship.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, beside the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

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Martin watched amazed on his small black and white screen as the two detectives exited Taylor's office. _Damn it! _They had found something out about Tommy. He shot a furious look at his brother in the passenger seat.

"What did ya do, Tommy?" He growled, staring at Tommy who wormednervously on his seat.

"Nothing Marty," he voiced, raising his hands in defense. "I didn't do nothing, only what ya told me. I left the car in an empty spot, and I came back right away."

"You had your gloves on all the time?" asked Martin, dreading his brother's answer.

"Sure man. It was too cold not to have 'em."

Martin's brows furrowed. So, how did the cops manage to get a sample of him? He shook his head and stared back at Tommy. Then, he spoke with a slow voice. "You used the plastic to cover the seat, right?"

"The plastic?"

_Damn it!_ Martin glared at Tommy, anger boiling beneath his brown eyes. "Can't believe you forgot about it Tommy. I sure told ya to use it."

"Oh C'mon Marty, I just sat like two minutes to drive the car, how could they get..."

"You idiot!" cut Martin. "Again you left a track behind you, damn it!" Martin punched the wheel, and wince at his painful knuckles. "I told you to be careful with these cops. They're not dumb, Tommy!" he sighed, resigned as he glanced at the black and white screen showing Mac's empty office. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast. The back of his head hit the top of the seat in anger as he closed his eyes, racking his brain, his whole body tensed.

The cops were on the road for Tommy's place, though they wouldn't be able to find anything, not with the booby trap they had left. He sighed, yeah he was sure of that, but now the boss wanted to keep Taylor alive a while longer and with his trap, he wasn't sure this was going to happen. He cursed. _Damn it!_ There was nothing he could do to stop them now. And if Taylor was out of the game, then be it, he couldn't take the risk to go and disarm the thing. Not without the cops falling down on him. He sighed. At least the cops wouldn't be able to hunt them after that, not right away anyway, but now Tommy was screwed. He looked at his brother who had again put him in a big mess. Now he had to find a way to keep him out of the cops' radar until the heat was off. He locked a pair of angry eyes with his brother who had shelled back against the passenger's door.

"I'll drop you off, and I want you to stay put, understood?"

Tommy looked at him, puzzled. "But Marty, I want to come along, I..."

"Shut up Tommy. You don't go anywhere from now on. Cops gonna have an APB soon on you, and I don't want 'em to find you. Got that?" voiced Martin, his hands squeezing the wheel.

"Alright, no need to be mean."

Martin raised his eyes to the car's ceiling in despair. "Gee, Tommy! We're in a mess because you didn't listen. Now I want you to shut the hell up and let me think!"

Without another word, Martin ignited the engine and pulled away from the dark snowy street they have been waiting in, the wipers shaving furiously at the thin layer of snow accumulated on the windshield. Now he had more in his plate than he wanted to take care. He cursed, and the day wasn't over yet.

_**xxx **_

The black SUV silently pulled over in a narrow alley, his passengers staring at the dirty shanty building on the other side of the street. The place was deserted, and Mac felt a small twinge of anxiety nestling in the pit of his stomach. His gut was screaming to get away from this gloomy place while his shattered mind demanded answers. Somehow, the whole building was giving him the creep. Ignoring the irrational fear crawling up into his mind, he jumped off the car, his boots squashing the dirty sludge melting in the dark alley with a small _splosh_. His brows creased as he noticed the broken, rusty pipe outside the building; releasing its brown stench-filled contents directly into the street, melting the snow and finishing in a few brownish puddles, one being directly under his shoes. He cursed as he stepped aside the stale pool and pouted.

Stella on the other side of the car didn't seem to notice his discomfort, or just acted like she hadn't seen it. _She's still mad at me,_ he realized bitterly. But Stella wasn't his priority, and further more she hadn't proved herself truthful until now, so why bother with what she might think. He sighed, he was angry, beat, and mostly anxious, though maybe not in this order, but he couldn't afford to deal with her feelings right now. For all he knew, she was just a coworker that seemed to care about him. But it was that word that really bugged him: 'seemed'. As his feet deepened into the fresh snow as they were now walking, or more like skidding onto the curb, he took a deep breath, trying to calm down the burning anger still ready to explode. All the while on the road her jaw had remained clenched into an angry rictus.

He glanced at Stella who was about to cross the street without waiting for him as she used to these last couples of days. _Then, let her be angry,_ his own mind voiced, _you don't need her, she's nothing to you. _A new wave of soaring pain spread over his heart and chest, though this time it wasn't coming from an open wound, but from his last thoughts. He sighed; no, he wanted her to be something for him, though he didn't know how and surely his whole jerk attitude wasn't going to help. He felt lost and sometimes all his being hated her way to mother him while the next minute he was missing her so deeply that it was killing him. What was happening to him? What was she really to him? It was like all their conversations had been about a lot of things but not the one his mind was bugging him about since day one; were they more than colleagues to each other? She had said friends, but was there more to it? And what about her frequent worried glances to him? Or his way to receive them and the fact, well... that they made him feel weird, as if he felt obligated to her. Yeah he was screwed, that's for sure. His lips let escape a small, tired grunt from the white burning pain soaring through his side. Slowly, he crossed the street and joined her on the icy curb where she had finally decided to wait for him. She eyed him suspiciously, a deep frown creasing her face as he stepped closer to him.

Stella watched with misery as Mac crossed the street, still limping, though with the thick layers of snow, it was more trudging than really walking. There was no doubt for her that Mac wasn't in good shape. She sighed. But her stubborn partner had once again stood up proudly as if nothing could stop him, which, she sometimes believed was true. But she was more scared that one day it would be too much, and she would be left alone. She watched as he pasted a weak smile over his face as he arrived near her. He was acting stubbornly, heading in the first open door without even checking if it was a trap, and she wasn't really helping either by letting him go into this building, she thought with torment.

"What are we waiting for?" he asked, his breath coming in small rasps after his painful walk to the building.

She was about to answer when two police cars pulled over behind her. She turned with a smile to meet the new comers.

"What is this?" Mac voiced angrily behind her. _Did she set me up?_ His rage started to soar into his mind. He knew he shoudn't have trusted her. He huffed shortly as three persons headed their way.

"You didn't think I was going to let you go inside alone Mac, did you?" he heard her answer as she stepped toward a tall, smiling man in a brown suit. He greeted her with a serious look as he glanced at the building. Then, his sight went to rest on Mac, and a big grin lighted his face immediately.

"Mac?" greeted him the voice of Don Flack as he closed the distance with his friend. He gave a small pat on Mac's good shoulder. "You couldn't resist one more day, huh?" he playfully added, his crystal, blue eyes sparkling with joy. "You sure look better than the day we found you." He smirked.

Mac frowned, unable to put a name on the guy. _Why?_ He had been able with Ross and Messer, and obviously the guy seemed to know him, was even there when they obviously rescued him.

As Mac wasn't answering to his joke, Don lost his composure and became more stern. "Now, seriously man, ya shouldn't be here. Surely Stella told ya that, right?"

"Well I'm sorry if my words are going to hurt you, but I have no idea of who the hell you are," started Mac. "Though I'm sure of one thing; right now, I don't give a damn about it and I don't care about what you think I should do or not. I'm here for one thing, get answers! And so far I didn't get much." His eyes darted toward Stella, challenging her to say otherwise, but she crossed her arms over her chest, sulking in his words. If she had hoped that guy was going to change his mind about going after Medriano, she was wrong. He was tired of people telling him what he should do or how he should be. "So right now, I'm about to get these answers. You're free to come along. I don't care! Just don't get in my way!"

On this angry word, Mac passed a stunned Don and a worried Stella, and headed inside the building. Don watched bewildered at the man that had been an example for him, was doing the exact thing he would have been pissed off if one member of his team had gone without backup. But then, he frowned, remembering that Mac wasn't himself and that his friend had a lot to cope to be back to his own self. He shook his head, before he gave a small wink at Stella with a light chuckle. Considering Mac's behavior, Stella probably needed some cheering up before she herself start to broke into pieces. To Don, it wasn't the first time that he had to deal with a pissed off Mac Taylor, and somehow seeing his friend acting like that, was kinda reassuring. Of course, a pissed off Mac was always dangerous and sent warnings in his head, but it comforted Don in the reassuring thought that his friend, his will, hadn't been crushed down by that building. No, Mac was fighting back, and even if it wasn't the best way to express it, like going crazy, at least he wasn't bottling up everything inside. And it meant that their Mac was coming back. But he had to admit with a small pinch at his heart that Mac not recognizing him had pained him a little, but hey, the guy hadn't recognized his best friend and partner either. So maybe he could give him a break. Don stepped closer to Stella, and their eyes connected. He could see the pain and fear blazing with anger inside her emeralds.

"Let's be his backup this time," he whispered as he gently stroked her back and led her towards the building.

She nodded quietly, evident worries carved on her face. Then, Don noticed for the first time, the deep bags under her eyes. If Mac was in bad shape, she sure was competing with him to be the next broken soul on Earth. He sighed, whatever they do or say, these two were too linked not to be affected by each other. With a small smile to his friend, he opened the door to let them in. Hopefully, they would get better together.

A stale stench of urine welcomed them as they stepped into a poor, lighted, narrow corridor. Their nose wrinkled in disgust. Shreds of wood and broken glasses were scattered on the floor as they arrived at the foot of a rotted stairway. Stella raised her eyes to the top, staring at the poorly lighted corridor on the first level. The address mentioned that Tommy was living on the first floor. She pointed at the next level and Don nodded, his hand instinctively going to his gun nestled on his hips as he took the lead, followed by Stella and two police officers. The old, wooden stairs creaked under their weights even though they tried to be careful. Then, arriving at the first floor, Don turned on the right.

As Stella followed him, she immediately spotted Mac at the end of the corridor. He was standing in front of a door, his face torn as if he was pondering his choices. Then, his head turned toward Don and Stella, and he regained a firmer composure; his jaw a bit clenched as he didn't want to let them see the confusion wrenching his mind.

"Need backup?" asked Don with a small, amused sparkle in the eyes as if he was back in the old days with Mac.

Mac's brows furrowed before his lips finally parted as he took a deep breath. "Can get a use of it," he admitted, his anger gone from his voice. He was tired and fighting with everyone around was getting on his nerves too. Especially when he had the sickening feeling that the people he was yelling at could really be what they were pretending to be; his friends. He bit his lower lip, trying to focus on the task ahead while his headache came back to hammer in his head.

"Alright then, it's your lead Mac. Go on," Don urged on as he pointed at the door; his face serious, and his gun lifted and carefully nestled in his hands.

With a smirk, Mac stepped closer and banged at the door. His strong, newly, found voice echoed in the corridor. "NYPD, Medriano. OPEN UP!" His hand instinctively went to his belt to check for his gun, but his fingers only found air instead, and he realized stunned that he had really thought he was armed. He frowned not sure it was a real good idea now that he wasn't armed to go inside. He glanced toward Stella still few feet away and wondered if she was armed, but then, she drew a black glock from her holster and nodded silently toward him. Maybe that's what she meant, when she had said that he hadn't been cleared up. He had no bagde, no gun. He sighed inwardly, and looked at the door that hadn't opened yet. If they were walking in a trap he was the only one unarmed. He cringed at the thought, that wasn't good.

Don raised a brow at the sudden authority his friend had found back. Yeah without a doubt, Mac was back on his trail. He smiled, giving a quick glance at Stella behind him where she was carefully observing Mac, though her gun too was in her hands, ready.

She took a small breath, her lips tight and anxiety building up as Mac glanced at her, his sight unsure, a small sparkle of her old friend surfacing. Through his quick glances she could feel his old partner kicking in and trying to be back. And every time she was hoping he would remain in control and that her Mac would be back. She sighed. But like in a bad dream, he again, turned his head back to the door before him as if he had shaved her friend away, unable to remember. Her heart squeezed in her chest, praying for her Mac to be back soon.

As silence settled in the corridor, Mac took his second option and turned the handle. The bold opened immediately and he pushed the door lightly, a bit surprised it was open. He glanced at Don, and noted that the cop was ready to cover him. The hinges hissed with a small cry when a small click was suddenly heard. Before Mac could react, he heard Flack yelling to take cover and was roughly sacked on the floor. The back of his head banged at the floor while the sound of a trigger echoed through the corridor and the door he was standing seconds before was blown up in a million pieces of wood.

"Mac? Don?" called a desperate Stella as a cloud of dust appeared between them.

A rain of wooden shreds covered both men on one side and Stella and the two cops on the other. Mac raised his head over Don's body sprawled over him and quickly checked where Stella was. Without knowing really why, his heart needed to know if she was okay. The minute he spotted her under the cops he let out a small sigh of relief, though it helped him to deal with the new pain in his chest too. He cursed as Flack had to have played defense in College. Flack's blow had tackled him by surprise, and vented the air out of his lungs in a second. Now the young detective was pressing heavily on his ribs, and Mac had to muffle a groan, not to cough. Flack got up, and Mac raised on his elbows. He could feel the aftermath finally catching up with his aching body. While Flack had jerked him on the floor, his left shoulder had roughly rugged on the ground and he bet, reopened the wounds. He bit his lower lip as he muffled a wince and got up awkwardly. Unconsciously his hand nestled over his side, rubbing at the dressing and the stitches underneath. He muffled a curse, hoping he hadn't reopened the stitches as well, or he was good for another trip to the hospital, and that, wasn't in his plan. As he turned, he finally saw what had happened. The remnants of the door loosely hanged on its hinges, a big hole carved in the middle.

Don whistled. "Wow. That was close."

Mac nodded as he noticed the worried glances Stella was giving him. His lips tight in a small remorse, he shook his head to reassure her that he was okay, sent back the same question. She quietly nodded too, and he let out a small sigh. Then he realized what they had just done, and how they had just communicated without words, checking each other. Was that the nature of their bond? The ability to understand each other without a word? He frowned, this new information leaning to reinforce what she had told him since the beginning, that they were close friends. He sighed, not sure of what use he could do with it right now. He would think about it later. No, right now he needed answers, and for that he needed Medriano.

Sweeping the dust from his leather jacket and wincing every time his sweater was grazing at his wounds, Mac followed Flack as they entered the apartment. Then, he felt Stella's hand reassuringly patting his arm as she came closer, her emerald eyes darting nervous questions to know if he was really all right. His green, ocean sight avoided her worried glances, not sure how to behave around her anymore. So instead, he chose to scan the place and let her wander alone.

Stella had watched with a beating heart as Mac had finally rose onto his legs beside Flack, dusting pieces of wood scattered over him. She winced mentally as each time he was moving, she could see his face flinching under the pain. So, quietly as they had all entered Medriano's place; Flack and the cops ahead of them and clearing the kitchen and the room, she had stepped by his side, unable to resist to the urge of touching him to know if he was okay. Though he had given her an answer before, she had been relieved he had acted as he used to before his memory loss. However, she still needed to feel the reality of it. She could have lost him a second time. But now, she was wondering why he was taking steps away from her as if somehow he was afraid to get too close of her. It was like last night when he had quickly dismissed her. She muffled a deep sigh and biting her lower lip, she resigned herself to give him some space, hoping that when the time would come, he would know that she was there. Then, mirroring his actions she headed to the kitchen to look for any evidence that could help him.

From the corner of his eyes, Mac caught Stella's shape disappearing in the kitchen. He sighed, both from the headache that was still hammering in his head, and from the fact his own body was tensing at all the implications his mind was offering about Stella. Her way to be around him was more than disturbing, and he had no answer to that. Clenching his fists, and trying to forget about her, he looked around, although his sight glanced from time to time into the kitchen where she had disappeared, not sure why.

Stella cursed, the apartment was a mess, not just because the shotgun nailed on a tripod in the middle of the room had transformed the door in small splinters. No, but because it appeared that obviously Medriano wasn't the kind of guy to clean his place. Used plates and bowls were left to rot in the sink, and on the corner of the island cockroaches crawled away at her footsteps to go hiding under some old leftovers. She watched with disgust as the bugs crawled away, preparing their come back for the night. Lighting her penlight, she rummaged through a pile of clothes left in the corner of the room.

Don, him, went to the bathroom, looking for drugs in the closet, or in any hidden compartment that smugglers could create. There, he unscrewed the tub main tile at the bottom, only to discover an empty, dark opening smelling mold but nothing else. He cursed as his eyes scanned the small place and hoped his friends would have better chances.

For a moment Mac remained in the middle of the main room. There was something missing, he could bet on it. The shotgun at the entrance was obviously to dissuade anybody trying to get in, possibly killing any intruder at the same time but it didn't fit with the guy's profile. Medriano was closer to a bully than a brain. And this weapon carefully set in front of the door wasn't the work of a bully. Then, he was pulled out from his thoughts by the curse offered by a cop near him.

"What is it?" he asked, an uneasy twitching in his gut.

"Detectives," the cop called as he glanced at Mac with dread before he pointed to a chair where he had lifted a dirty, yellow sheet.

"Oh God," whispered Mac as he saw the numbers counting down.

_Nine... Eight... Seven._

"Get out now!" he screamed as he pushed the cop outside. "Get out!" he yelled again as now Stella and Don were looking at him, stunned. _Damn it!_ Cursed Mac, he had no time for frozen cops, waiting near the deadly artifact. Grabbing Stella's wrist, Mac pushed her before him and to the exit as Don stepped right behind him, finally registering the urgency in Mac's eyes.

_Three...two..._

Mac plunged on the left, taking Stella to the ground with him. She stared with fear as her back hit the floor, although his strong hand shielded the back of her head from the impact. For a second their eyes connected in a whirlpool of fear, before he wrapped his arms around her, covering her body. Without thinking, his face pressed against her cheek, his hand snuggling her head against his shoulder as a wild explosion blew up behind him.

The ground shook beneath them, and he breathed laboriously, his heart beating too fast for him to keep the pace. Pieces of heavy panel dripped on his back and head as he tightened his grip around Stella's body, shielding her face from the falling pieces. At one point something hard sank in his back and he muffled a groan while he lifted his shoulder to be sure to protect her face.

Stella felt Mac trembling from the explosion as he held her close. She closed her eyes in a reflex, her voice calling his name muffled by his shoulder. She prayed for them to be okay and held onto him not ready to lose him again.

When the dust finally settled on their bodies, Mac released his grip, his ocean eyes searching for any gash etched at her face. He sighed not sure why he had done that, but relieved when he found her unharmed. Since he first woke up in the hospital they hadn't stopped to fight and argue and he had a lot of doubts about her. But with the proximity of death, his instinct had taken over without even thinking, and his priority had been her safety. He swallowed, his face inches of her as she stared in fear into his eyes, looking for signs that he was okay, too.

"Mac?" she finally croaked, her emerald eyes still unable to leave the green ocean of his.

Without a word he nodded, not able to cope right away with the strong feelings that surged inside him. It was too weird, too strong and too powerful to be understandable. He rolled on his left side to give some room for Stella. Pieces of wood fell from his back and to the wreck the ground was now as he looked toward the corridor. Then, his eyes set on the still body of Don Flack lying on the floor, his dark hair covered with a thick layer of white dust, and Mac's heart stopped in his chest. Now he remembered, the guy's name was Flack, Don Flack. The image before him seemed to freeze as he could hear his loud breathing echoing through his ears. Then, he saw the cops run toward Flack in slow motion. The sound of his breath was stronger now, overwhelming his senses, beating behind his ears. He felt drowsy and unable to move as he watched the cops bent over Flack to check his pulse. The detective wasn't moving. _No,_ his mind screamed in dread. He saw the lips of the cops moving, but he couldn't understand them, his breathing now too loud and covering the sound of their voices. Then, a loud rumble rang into his ears as he felt a voice calling him from afar.

"Mac," called Stella for the third time as she was staring with fear at his haggard posture. Her hand on his shoulder gently squeezed to pull him from wherever his mind had thrown him into. She watched with worries as he slowly turned toward her, his face ashen. "Mac, you okay?"

He saw her lips formed slow words, her voice deformed slightly by a grotesque effect. Breathing hard, he swallowed and his eyes went back to Flack's still form. Then, the world seemed to get back to its normal speed, and he clearly heard Stella beside him. Worries smoldering beneath her frenetic calls as she was squeezing his shoulder, her grip too tight to be the first time she had done it.

Mac blinked and watched as Flack finally moved and propped himself up on his elbows, pieces of charredwoods falling from his back while he raised on his legs. Taking support on the closest wall, he rubbed slowly his face, looking aimlessly around him. Then, one of the cops wrapped an arm around his neck and helped him to walk toward the exit.

"You guys okay?" managed to speak Flack through a deep cough as he had stopped before them.

Mac nodded slightly, his eyes not leaving Flack. "You?" he asked with a small voice, an irrational fear born in the pit of his stomach.

"Yeah, just need to sit down for a while." Then, the cop continued to walk, pulling Flack with him and out of Mac's sight.

"C'mon," Stella suggested as she stood up and extended her hand for Mac.

Still trying to get his heart rate to normal, Mac raised a pair of weary eyes to her. Their eyes connected and he felt even more anxious now. He grabbed her hand and as she helped him to get to his feet an idea crossed his mind; he could have lost her today. He froze before her as the sudden realization dawned on him. With a small breath, he swallowed back the fear that had crawled up to his stomach, and glanced over his shoulder, checking if she was okay, their hands still clinging to each other. Although her face, hair and clothes were covered by a thick, white dust, she seemed to be all right. Biting his lower lip, his sight looked down, almost lost, not sure what he should say or do. This was all his fault.

When Stella caught the look of sorrow and remorse on Mac's face, she knew that this time he wasn't going to protest to her proposition. "Let's go home," she murmured to his ear as she gently stroked his back and led him to the stairs. And without a word, he let her guide him outside.

The cold, frozen wind greeted them as they exited the building. Over their head, a broken window vomited a thick, dark column of smoke staining the white, snowy sky as a painful reminder of what could have been their fate. Her eyes not leaving him, Stella walked slowly to their car, keeping her pace in rhythm with Mac's. She wasn't sure what was going on with him beside the fact he looked drained, his natural color having abandoned his face. So she didn't speak and just walked towards the driver's side. In silence, she climbed in the car, waiting for him to join her when he would be ready.

Mac exhaled deeply as he leaned his back against the SUV still trying to catch his breath. Suddenly, his vision blurred and he slanted forward with a weak yelp. His hands gripped at his knees before he felt his legs giving out. His knees splashed into the wet, dirty sludge as he puked, emptying his stomach; his body finally giving in to the long exhaustion and mental pain. _They could have all died because of me. _He closed his eyes trying to hold on to the thought that they were all alive, but it wasn't enough. Light tremors ran through his body and a new wave of nausea assaulted him. His stomach tore in hot pain as he bent over again. His fingers sank into the frozen sludge while his churning stomach tried desperately to empty more which was already a deep void. _You almost killed them, _his mind shouted in deep anger. Cold beads of sweat dripped from his temples and into the snow. He fought to clear his vision as his stomach retched in painful heaves. Before him, the frozen sludge spun and he took a deep breath to remain on his hands and knees. He couldn't break now.

Jumping out of the car, Stella circled the black SUV with a frown and thanked her gut for parking far from the burning building and the now crowded street with cops. She wouldn't have liked anyone to witness Mac's distress. Not like this, not when he wasn't totally himself. Silently, she stepped next to his fallen frame and crouched. Her hand softly rested on his back, gently stroking him. He shuddered under her fingers but as the light tremors continued, she realized she wasn't the cause this time, and with pain she discovered why. He was in shock; his body trembling uncontrollably from whatever mental torment his brain had decided to put him through; and what she felt under her touch was his body finally giving out, his will not of much help anymore. Slowly, her hand went to his neck finding it hot and sweating. No wonder he was shaking with the frozen wind blowing in the street.

"Let's go home, Mac," she repeated with a soft whisper as her fingers gently caressed his nape. She watched with a pinch at her heart as he nodded wearily to the ground unable to speak or daring to look at her.

Then, slowly rising on shaking legs, and his sight avoiding her, he managed to open the door and climb inside the car without a word or a look at her. It's only when he had tightened his seatbelt that she saw him lean his head back against the seat, his eyes already closed, too drained to try to put his usual brave face for the one around. Her heart squeezed in her chest, knowing that today something had struck him hard and she was helpless to know what.

_**xxx**_

From the corner of his eyes, Flack saw the black SUV leaving the dark street as the ME was checking him in the back of the ambulance.

"I'm okay," he grumbled as the ME shoved a small light in his eyes. Flack closed them quickly to stop the pain coming from it, though it didn't stop the throbbing headache that was hammering and playing a concert between his ears. He sighed. At least Mac and Stella had been smarter and had headed to their car right away, avoiding that small check up.

"No sign of concussion," stated the ME as he left Flack to button his shirt, and put back the penlight away.

"Yeah I know. I told ya that," he mumbled, fumbling with his vest.

The ME nodded, ignoring Flack's comment as he pulled out his gloves. "If I were you, though, I'd stay home for the rest of the day, just in case. You bumped your head pretty hard, Detective, so you should take it easy."

"Thanks for the tip," replied dryly Flack as he jumped off the ambulance. "But I'm not sick." _And I'm not letting those bastards run away after they'd tried to kill us. _He sighed, his face carved with a deep frown remembering Mac's haggard face after the explosion. It was like his friend had seen a ghost or something. His gut had twitched madly at the view, and if he hadn't been too knock out to say something at the time, he would have remained with him to check that he was really fine, though he was sure that Stella was going to do that check up as soon as they would be home. Flack swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. Something in Mac's eyes had scared the hell out of him. Something dark and tormented he had never seen before, and in perspective of the last events he didn't like the sound of it.

Turning a glassy face to the building, Flack pulled out his phone. He had to call Danny and the team, make sure that if anything happens, the team would be there for their friends. Of course he wasn't gonna talk about what he had seen in Mac's eyes. No, he didn't want to embarrass his friend with things he would have preferred to remain buried, but he had to keep the team in the loop. Whoever had set those traps wanted to make sure there wouldn't be anything left of the place and its visitors as well. Flack sighed, hopefully, Mac's instinct had kicked in quickly, and without the combination of his warning and his prompt reaction, he didn't want to imagine in what pieces the EMS would have found them. No, once again they had been pretty lucky, which in his world wasn't good. At one point, you could run out of luck and then it would be too late. Flack looked up at the dark smoke clouding the white sky over him and prayed that whatever came next, they would be able to face it and stay all alive.

_**xxx**_

When Danny had received the call, his first thought had been that it couldn't be true. Another trap set no less than three days later, that was real, bad karma, signs of something really important going on. He huffed to his screen as Lindsay entered their office and frowned when she caught the look of worry in his blue eyes.

"Danny? What's goin' on?"

He bit his lower lip. _No less than thirty seconds_, his mind shot. As always, his wife had seen through him even without a word out of his mouth. Was that the power of love? Then, why wasn't he able to do the same? He smirked, women's trick. Somehow he wondered if Mac had felt so powerless facing a woman, surely not. His boss' will was too strong to surrender to anyone or let anyone see through him, although, he did remember Stella doing some of her voodoo tricks on him. A small smile grazed his lips. _Yeah, women's trick. _He was now sure of it.

"Danny?" repeated Lindsay as she stepped closer.

"Huh, sorry Linds." He sighed. "Flack's just called. There was a trap at Medriano's place; a bomb to be more precise."

"A bomb!" exclaimed Lindsay, her hand covering instantly her mouth. "Are they...?" her voice trailed off unable to finish with the fateful word.

"No, no, Linds, sorry I should have started with it. They're all okay. Though Mac escaped twice the trap. Call it luck, or bad karma, I don't know," he said as his hand shaved the air before him.

"Twice?" she asked puzzled.

He sighed as he got up and hobbled to the window, looking at the city shrouded by a white thick coat of snow. "Those bastards were waiting for them with a shotgun pointed at the doorway. And ya know Mac, well, he wouldn't have left anyone to go in to take the first blow." He sighed, his thoughts drifting to what could have happened if his friend had been alone. "But luckily Flack heard the trigger on time to get him out of the way."

"Danny," she whispered, confusion in her eyes as she sat in the same chair he had be in minutes ago. She needed to sit, her legs suddenly too shaking to support her. _What was going on? What was happening to them?_

"I know, felt the same way when Flack told me." He nodded slightly. "I just hope he's not gonna run out of luck." He sighed, his head sagging before him hopeless. It was so hard to believe that anything could happen and reap them of one of their friends like that. Of course it wouldn't be the first time. They had already lost Aiden and Jess, but Mac? Danny couldn't let that possibility sink to his mind, though the night Don and Stella had pulled him out of that ruin, he had really felt his world about to crumble. But Mac had made it out alive, and he had stupidly assumed that his friend was out of the woods. But with this now, he wasn't sure anymore.

With a pinch at her heart, Lindsay joined her husband wrapping her frail arms around him, and rested her cheek against his back. "He's gonna be okay, Danny. You know, Mac." She paused feeling the tension in his shoulders relaxing a little. "We're all gonna be okay." Softly she dropped a kiss between his shoulders.

With a weak smile, Danny twisted in her arms and wrapped his arms around her in a warm embrace. Abandoning her barriers, Lindsay closed her eyes, her head leaning against his chest and lulled by the slow, reassuring beat of his heart. Silently, she prayed for the team to be okay and especially for their boss.

_**xxx**_

Mac shivered as he followed Stella into her apartment, his mind having finally given in to any suggestions she had softly uttered. He was tired. He was broken, and he had enough of all of this: his shredded memory, those bastards that tried to kill him, almost killing those who claimed to be his friends, and most of all of him. He hated to feel like that, so powerless in the face of what was happening to him and the fact he was continually fighting his own mind to know who he should trust or not. No, he was done. Done for today, done for the week, and possibly the year. He sighed, releasing some of the turmoil that wrenched his mind, and dropped on his bed, broken.

"Mac," called Stella as she entered his room. "Do you want to order..." but her words died on her lips the minutes her eyes set upon his exhausted frame, sprawled on the bed.

She noticed he was still wearing his jacket, and his face was pale, even whiter than her own walls if it could be possible. His glazing eyes stared at the ceiling without focus, and he didn't seem to register her presence. Tightening her lips, she sat next to him. She wanted to touch him to reassure him, but she couldn't, in fact, she didn't know if the real Mac would have left her doing so. So, instead she opted for the closest thing she thought he would allow her to, she gently patted his arm, her warm gaze searching for life in his green, ocean eyes.

"Hey, you need to eat a bit Mac," she whispered warmly.

Slowly, he moved and seemed to be alive again. His eyes focused on her with a light frown. "Not hungry," he dropped as his eyes went back to the empty ceiling.

"I bet you ain't." She gave him a small smile. "But I'd like you to join me." She wasn't mad at him, and she wanted to have the time to tell him that. So, if he could stay with her, says on the couch, for example, maybe she would get the opportunity to ask him what he was hiding and what was really bugging him.

His frown deepened not believing what he had just heard. What was she doing? She wanted to see him? After all he had put them into. Then, a word he wouldn't have thought he would say came out of his mouth. " 'kay." Yes, he was okay with that. In fact, he wanted to understand why he felt so strange around her, going from anger to love in a matter of seconds. He smirked inwardly. _Love?_ Was he really feeling that for her?

"Good. Now let's get you out of these clothes and into something more comfortable before you catch a cold," she said with a warm smile. Maybe things were going to be better now that he was remembering some members of the team.

He sighed, giving up. He propped himself on his elbows and sat while trying to take off his jacket, which appeared to be a more difficult task that he had envisioned it.

"I'll be there soon," he puffed tiredly, hoping to dismiss her, but instead she stared at him with a sad smile before she fumbled with his jacket to help him. Normally, he would have opposed directly, pretending he could do it alone, but this time he didn't. He was too tired to pretend that he was okay when all he wanted was to lie down and forget about this day. Sure, he had remembered some names, and information about the team he had been obviously working with, and it was good news. But on the other hand, he had almost killed two of the people that pretended to be his friends. And even if he didn't remember their friendship, he couldn't ignore the fact that Flack had saved his ass back there or the frightened Stella's face after the shot.

A wince escaped his lips as they finally got his right arm out of the leather sleeve. Frowning, Stella watched him closely. She noticed how his wrist was still wearing the blue, brownish bruises left by the cuff; a painful reminder of his ordeal with the same aggressor that had almost booby trapped them all today. "What's going on, Mac?" she asked, expecting him to tell her the truth.

"Told you, I'm tired," he whispered with a grunt, feeling the rage soaring through his core about her question. This whole thing with her was starting to get on his nerves now. And why did he have to be so damn angry at her, now?

"I've seen you tired, Mac. Maybe you need a shower or a bath to relax?" She tried.

"I'm okay Stell. I don't..." he began, shaking his head, and then stopped as he noticed the wide smile she was giving him. "What?" he asked, his brows furrowed.

Standing up, she faced him with a warm, sparkling smile. "You called me Stell, Mac."

"Well, that's your name, isn't it?" He replied, confused. What had he done this time? He sighed inwardly.

"I know, but it's the first time since you're out the hospital that you've used my name this way." She grinned like a kid. He was really coming back, she thought with joy and pride. They would finally be able to see the end of the tunnel.

"Told you I was remembering working with you." He frowned. So now what? She hadn't believed him?

"Yes, you said so. But until now you weren't acting like...you," she finished the words escaping her lips with a whisper as she gave him a shy smile to forgive her.

He let out a light chuckle unable to resist at the mischievous, puppy eyes she was giving him. This woman was amazing; one minute he was pissed off because of her questions and the next he felt wings growing up in his back.

"Alright," he admitted a weak smile tugged at his lips as she was pacing the room in front of him. He raised a brow with content, a slight feeling of déjà vu popping in his memory, and he realized he liked that. Well, not the fact he remembered, of course it was great, but his heart was suddenly lighter as he was watching her, his sight following her graceful, perfect curves as she paced the room with a big grin plastered on her face. She was really an amazing woman.

"Okay, give me five and I..." He began tiredly, before she cut him off.

"Yeah right, nice play, Mac," she smirked, knowing that his private side was trying to avoid the obstacle, but she wasn't going to back down. He didn't seem in great shape, hell, he was a mess, so she couldn't really leave him to struggle on his own. What kind of friend would she be to let him struggle alone, right?

"What?" his eyes rose in a question.

"Seeing the trouble you got with your jacket, let me help with your sweater, I bet it's more complicated," she quipped, knowing that by a quick look at his posture and weary sight she was right.

_Complicated, huh, she has no idea._ But then, he couldn't let her see his wounded shoulder or his side, or he would have her on his back for the remaining days he was condemned to stay with her, though it would mean he would have more time to know her, and somehow he wasn't sure anymore if he was really against that idea. "I'll be fine, really."

"Maybe," she said eyeing him suspiciously. "But you know there's nothing I haven't seen before," she grinned at the stunned look he gave her. "So, let's get that sweater off."

_Nothing she hasn't seen before?_ _What the..._ The words struck him. What did she mean by that? He had thought they were just friends. A wave of panic soared inside him as he saw her stepped toward him. "I..." his words died in his throat as he felt the soft touch of her hand delicately grazing his skin near his waist. His heart skipped in his chest, and he felt warmer than he should, her perfume exploding in his brain like a million sparkles when she slanted towards him. Her fingers began to tug at his sweater while he tried to breathe in vain. "Stell..." his voice trailed off, not sure how to hide his discomfort without hurting her. He couldn't let her get too close.

"Raise your arms," she whispered, her warm breath caressing his cheek.

Swallowing, he complied without even thinking as if he was under some kind of spell, her spell. His heart echoed louder in his ears now, but then, the pain brought him back to the harsh reality. Without noticing it, he had lifted his left arm and reawakened the deep slashes carving his shoulder.

Stella noticed his winces almost immediately, and a light frown appeared on her face as his sweater was finally out. For a minute she remained silent, her sight lingering on Mac's flushed face. "Mac? You're hurt?" Even though she had pronounced those words with a question, she was more stating a fact. Her eyes observed him, noting every detail of his flinched posture, and the way his black, wet t-shirt was hanging loosely over his right shoulder but seemed to clad his body on his right side and his left shoulder. Even his right arm was carefully cuddling his side in protection. Worries crept in her mind as she sat on the bed beside him, and tried to look closely to his side, though his hands hindered her.

"I'm okay, I'll..." he began. His cold hands pushed hers away. He didn't want to hurt her, but he couldn't resign to let her see how weak he was.

This time she didn't let him finish. No, something was off and she was determined to know what. "Please, let me see, Mac." Pushing his hands away, she delicately lifted the dark fabric and discovered with horror that some stitches had reopened, part of his t-shirt now clotted with dried blood.

He swallowed, knowing already the tongue lashing she was going to serve him. But after she had examined his raw side and his shoulder, she stood up and extended her hand. He raised on her a pair of weary, stunned eyes. _What now?_ With a deep sigh, he grabbed her hand and stood up. And without a word she led him to the bathroom. He winced at the thought of struggling alone with the water and his t-shirt, but then she surprised him once again. She closed the door behind them, and as she put the heat on, she turned on the water to fill the tub, a sad smile on her face. He remained in the middle of the bathroom, watching her with nervousness.

"You should have asked..." she dropped sadly, referring to his bleeding wounds. "I would have put a fresh dressing over this." She pouted at the thought of him opting for the worst solution, leaving his wounds unprotected.

He sighed, his eyes lost on the tiles floor. "I didn't want to bother you...and..." His hand brushed his hair, searching his words. He let out a deep, exhausted breath. There were things that seemed too hard to express what he had on his chest. "Sometimes, I'm lost..." he began. "And...well I...I don't know what I should do or say to you or the others." His sight avoided her, not sure it was the right time to confess this, especially after he had put her life on the line. What right did he have to ask for her help and her kindness after he had almost got her killed by his reckless actions. "Sorry," he mumbled. "But... I just can't behave as you expect me to. I don't know how."

Biting her lower lip, Stella gently cupped his cheek with a warm hand, and slowly lifted his chin, her tender, emerald eyes gazing at the deep, ocean pools filled with pain and remorse. "I don't expect you to behave in any particular way, Mac. You're my friend. I've already decided to take you as you are, with your strength and your bad ass sides." She gave him a playful wink, trying to reassure him of her friendship. It was hard for her to hear his confession and see so many doubts lingering in the turquoise fields of his eyes.

He gave her a muffled chuckle. "Yes, but you never signed for this." He glanced at the mirror behind her, displaying his wreck silhouette appearing like the shadow of a man he had been.

"True," she admitted, realizing they couldn't ignore his physical situation. "But I know you, Mac. You may be lost because of the events, but you're the strongest person I have ever met. I have no doubt that when all of this will be over, you'll be back to normal." At least she hoped he would, not sure if it would happen soon, but knowing her partner, anything was possible. She hadn't lied, if anyone could come back from a double fight with memory loss and PTSD, it was him. And a fighting Mac was worth ten Goliaths.

Slumping on the edge of the bathtub, Mac sat and covered his face with his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. He let out a deep, painful breathing. "I'm not so sure."

Her lips tight, she crouched before him and cuddled his hands between hers. "It's okay. I will be for the two of us until your strength is back," she comforted as he raised his exhausted gaze on her, and noticed her determined stare.

He took a deep breath realizing how much he could drown himself into that stare. It was weird, since day one at the hospital, he had wondered what was that power lurking beneath these emerald jewels. And there he was, weak and beat, before her like the first time, and she was still giving him that feeling that nothing on earth could stop her. He bit his lower lip, wondering if one day, she would hold that gaze for her lover, or if she had ever done it for him or would. He sighed mentally. He shouldn't be thinking like that. As friends, if nothing had happened between them before this day, what were the odds that it happens in a near future? He sighed, almost remote.

"C'mon. Let me help you," she said as she stood up and slightly lifted his black t-shirt. He groaned as the fabric, stuck with dried blood, was pulling on his skin, sending waves of hot iron pain through his tired body.

"Sorry," she muffled. She clenched her teeth at the torn face he was giving her and stopped what she was doing. She took a step back, considering him a moment. His t-shirt out of his pants, he looked like a beat soldier after a battle, she thought as she noticed the fabric cut over his right arm, probably from the fall with Don, she assumed.

"Okay," she began. "Let's try another way." Rummaging through the closet next to the shower, she pulled out a pair of scissor.

Mac frowned. "What's that for?"

"Ah, don't worry, I've always been good at cutting things in the kindergarten." She smiled as he gave her an anxious look. "Relax, Mac. I'm just going to cut through your t-shirt," she pointed at his right arm. "Since it's already torn, I guess, I can finish the job."

"I don't need your help, Stella. I'm quite capable of..." He tried again, but she stopped him right away.

"Yes you do," she cut him off quickly, an amused smile grazing her lips, though, deep down she knew he was hurt. "I'm sure it would be hell to try to get rid of that thing alone, Mac." _And I'm betting it's why you weren't up for a shower this morning._

"I'll be fine," he tried to counter, hoping she would drop the idea of helping him. He was grateful for her help, but something inside him was feeling very uncomfortable with the idea of being shirtless before her, furthermore if she was starting to play nurse. He took a deep breath, and held her gaze, but she took a step further and stood next to him.

"C'mon Mac," she smiled. "Let me help, okay?" she pointed at his arms tugging at his t-shirt to keep it firmly in place.

With a deep sigh, Stella noted he gave up as his hands dropped limply on his sides, and his green, ocean eyes stared at her with a deep sadness she had never seen as if he was resigned to embrace death itself. She frowned not sure she wanted to do it if he was feeling like that.

"Mac, I'm not gonna hurt you." She tried to comfort him.

"I know," he dropped with a tired voice.

"So what is it? Why do you look so beat?" If it wasn't her, then what was the problem?

He sighed. "Just tired," he admitted in half truth.

"Mac?"

He rubbed his face with a lazy move of his hand, not sure he wanted this conversation going that way. How could he tell her that her taking care of him sounded too weird for him to be able to cope? As if something inside him was rebelling against it, screaming and yelling that he shouldn't trust her despite all the things she had done? He closed his eyes. He wanted to believe her, trust her, so why so many doubts now? Why did he feel as if she was going to betray him in the next minute? And what about this urgent need to yell on her and be angry after her? About what anyway? He clenched his jaw. No, he couldn't tell her that, or sure he would hurt her, again.

"Just need some sleep," he replied, h alf lying as he really needed sleep too. His eyes locked with the small tiles of the floor.

She sighed. He was keeping things from her. But could she blame him? She was doing the exact same thing about his PTSD. "Alright, I'm just gonna get rid of this shirt, okay?"

He nodded, not really looking at her. With tight lips, she kneeled beside him and began to cut through the dark fabric starting by his back and from the bottom of his black shirt. Slowly, the scissor went up as Stella was careful not to touch his skin. After some long and silent seconds, his black t-shirt was cut open, and standing up behind him, she softly lifted the wet fabric around his wounded shoulder. Careful not to pull on the flesh, she gently separated the fabric from the clotted wound, wincing at the view of the chewed up skin mixed with thin black fabric. She sighed deeply, discovering the long grazes carved in his skin; she had no idea his shoulder had been torn like that. Clenching her jaw her mind offered her images of what he had been through to have these marks.

Then, her heart beat faster as she felt him shuddering when she lifted more of the t-shirt, cutting the short sleeve to free his left side, and revealing a small family of dark, purple bruises on his back. In her career she had seen a lot of bodies and victims of attacks, but seeing those same, evident marks of a beating on her partner was hard to swallow. Mac had always been a private man, and seeing these, she could verify this side of his personality hadn't been altered, this too he had hidden from her. Of course processing a crime scene should have led the team to take pictures of these, but with the mess provoked by his absence and her staying with him, and dealing with his suspicion, she had preferred to ignore it and wait for a more appropriate moment. Now, she was reminded that she would have to talk to him about it.

"I'm almost done," she said, as she felt him quivering beneath her touch. Then, she lifted the right side of the black t-shirt, ready to cut the right sleeve. But then, her hand remained frozen in the air as her eyes had caught something she had never expected to see. Beneath the black fabric, a short scar was carved in his flesh right under the last rib. Trembling, her fingers brushed softly at the rough damaged skin. It was obvious that this scar was much older than a week, years maybe?

"What's that scar**,** Mac?"

Small tremors ran through his back when her soft fingers caressed his skin. "What?" he asked with a tired voice, not sure he had heard her right. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"How... I mean, I thought you remembered?" She sighed, visibly disappointed by his answer.

"What are you talking about?"

"This scar, Mac," she repeated, her fingers delicately brushing the old wound. "I... Why didn't you ever tell me about it?"

He could hear pain in her voice, but frankly he had no idea what she was talking about. _A scar?_ _On his back?_ He had no idea what it was. Until now he wasn't remembering anything about himself, about others yeah, but that was all. "I remember things when I see them, like Messer or you, ya know," he explained. "I remember where you were born, your track record, and..."

She didn't let him finish as the harsh realization hit her. "But you don't remember working with me," she finished with bitterness. "Or our friendship..." her voice trailed off, thinking about the implications. "Or things about you, like this scar? Nothing personal?"

"No, I don't." He admitted with a deep, painful sigh. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I see images, but I don't..." his voice trailed off, knowing that if he was telling her everything she would be sad, and right now, he didn't want to inflict her more pain, he had done enough already. His lips tightened. No. He didn't want her to be sad, never, she deserved better.

Her hand went to his neck, and gently stroked his cheek. He blushed slightly at the gentle gesture. His heart was strangely beating faster every time she was touching him. And even if his mind was confused, something really clear was starting to form in his mind. He was feeling something for her that was beyond friendship and that he couldn't deny it. He looked down, not sure what to do. Then, his body shivered from the cold grazing his sweaty skin and he clenched his jaw to hide his winces.

"It's okay, Mac. I know it will come back to you, and I'm not sad or angry at you for not remembering me as a friend," she admitted, though she wouldn't tell him that it hurt her that he wasn't remembering her more than a number or a data in his mind. She sighed inwardly. All these years she had thought she had a special place in his heart like he did in hers, but obviously, those feelings weren't strong enough to overcome his memory loss. Truth was, he had never talked about this scar to her, hell, if she hadn't happened to be there that fateful Sunday after the blast, she would have never known about the one over his heart as well. Of course she should have expected not being in his heart, knowing it had always beat for Claire. But some nights she had hoped that things could evolve between them. She swallowed the small knot in her throat. obviously she had been wrong, he had no strong feelings for her.

_Okay, no time to indulge myself in misery,_ she told herself as she noticed her partner shaking more within the minute. He was exhausted, wet from the sweat he got after the blast and probably mentally beat as well, that was why he hadn't put much resistance for once. Resuming her work, she resigned herself to ask him later about this scar, when he would be back to his old self. She cut his right sleeve.

Kneeling before him, her eyes crossed the weariness in his as he straightened up to let her access to his right side and swallowed the pain lingering in his eyes. Slowly, she lifted the fabric, but this time she saw with worries that the fabric was entangled with the stitches. Very slowly, she pulled the fabric toward her, mindful of his slight twitches and his muffled grunts, escaping his throat.

"I'm almost done," she added softly, just as the last pieces of clotted fabric left his skin, his black t-shirt remaining in her hands.

With misery, he watched her as she turned off the hot water, the steam now covering the mirror and his skin. He shivered as her move lifted the air around him, cooling his wet skin. Glancing at the small bath behind him, he looked back at her, waiting for her to leave, but she remained before him, waiting. She couldn't expect him to undress while she was here? His mind wondered.

"I'll do fine with the rest," he said trying to dismiss her once again. But instead she gave him a warm smile he couldn't resist and raised a pair of tired brows to her.

"Mac, you need to get cleaned up. Now I can turn if you need some privacy, but those wounds need to be attended to and you can't wet them. So I'm not leaving," she stated with a warm smile.

He sighed. She was right, though he didn't think it was a good idea to get that close of each other as his only memories were some images of gruesome case or data about people, but never anything personal, though his heart was clearly looking for more with her. Looking around, and her still waiting for him to do the first move, he resigned himself. He knew that his only way out was to make sure she would be satisfied, and since she wanted to play nurse, then, he had no real reason to oppose to it. So, he stood up, careful as he felt his legs a bit weak. He detached his belt, his eyes hovering in the bathroom as his cheeks were turning into a soft pink. He just prayed she wouldn't notice. So far, she had only talked about a mere friendship between them, and he wasn't sure that his real him would appreciate things to change, especially due to his condition. And the pity he could read behind her green, emerald eyes wasn't what he wanted her to think of him. He unzipped his pants, and his cheeks turned crimson, so instead of making a fool out of himself, as soon as his jeans were on the floor, he made his way to the bathtub.

Stella blushed at Mac's nervousness mixed with shyness. It was all so Mac Taylor, she noted with a small smile as he entered the tub with his underwear on. Well, in fact, she hadn't expected otherwise. She didn't want him to think she was taking advantages of him due to his situation. She couldn't and wouldn't. Though the whole situation made her grin mentally, her mind playing with the mental image of her partner in a non professional or friendly way. She took a deep breath, scolding herself that it wasn't the right time or place to think like that about Mac.

Mac grimaced as the warm water began to seep through his tired muscles, the hot liquid stopping just a bit over his hips, avoiding his stitches. He sighed loudly, feeling the hot water warming his cold limbs. It felt good. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the tub, but opened them the minute a pair of warm hands rested on his right shoulder. _Stella, _his mind shot in expectation. _Oh God, what is she doing now?_ His heart skipped in his chest from her soft touch.

"It's only me, Mac," teased Stella at the light shivers she felt under her fingers. Then, with relief, she felt his shivering stop and his breath started to slow down.

She had to admit, she could enjoy seeing her partner more often like that. Not wounded of course, that alone was enough to wrench her heart for a long time, but she had to admit that she indulged her eyes as they caressed his frail, but well built body from top to bottom. But then, the warmth growing inside her stopped cold when she discovered a long, nasty scar running like a snake around his left leg. Another old wound Mac Taylor had never talked about it, she noted bitterly. How many more secrets had he still kept from her? How much was still buried inside him that he had never thought worth sharing with her? She felt a deep sadness invade her as she knew he was most of the time alone, and not one to share his pain. No one should bear so much on one's shoulder without being able to release it. But here was the main trouble, to who? Mac wasn't one to discuss openly about his physical or even mental scars, even to her, the proof right before her. It had taken years before he had really spoken about Beirut and that was only due to Don closing to death's door, otherwise she would bet she wouldn't know a thing about it. She sighed, hoping that at least, their close proximity this time could come in handy and help her to make him realize that he could let her in; that she cared about him, and that nothing else mattered for her but him.

"I need you to bend forward a little, Mac," she said, hoping he was going to comply. To her surprise, Mac leaned forward, resting his face in his hands, his elbows supported by his knees.

Softly, she took the sponge bath, soaked it in the warm soapy water and pressed it around the wound on his shoulder. The warm water dripped slowly along his back. Her other hand resting in the crook of his neck, she felt with delight the tensed muscles of his back beginning to relax as she repeated her action and more warm water slid along his spine. She tried to clean the wound as much as she could without wetting it too much, which would hinder his recovery and prolonged his torment. After sometimes, and when she was sure the wound was clean, she soaped his whole back, gently brushing his hard muscles with the soft, warm sponge. She couldn't suppress a smile when his head sagged before him, more relaxed. She could picture his eyes closed and his jaw loosening. A warm smile spread over her lips as she realized he was trusting her enough to abandon himself into her arms.

Mac swallowed slowly, his mind drifting in and out of this reality. He was feeling warm and almost relax for the first time since he had woken up in this dark hole. Even if he had a hard time to focus on what was going on around him, he knew his current delighting state was due to one person: Stella. A small, anxious voice rose in his mind, nervously telling him that he shouldn't be there with her like that. He sighed inwardly and shaved the voice away. He was too tired to give in to it, and to the fear that seemed to surge every time she came too close to him. No, her hands on his skin was all that mattered right now. He knew he should have tried to tell her to leave that he would take care of himself, but the more the sponge brushed down his back, the more his will was drifting away, defenseless against this woman. He felt his body sagging slowly and knew that soon she would be able to do whatever she wanted to him because he had no strength to oppose to her. Though it didn't matter anymore. Somehow deep down, now that he had stopped to fight her he could feel that he was slowly falling for her. He knew it was dangerous and risky, as he hadn't remembered a lot of things about her. But her care and attention to him was enough to shave all his questions. Tonight, he was done with his questions. He sighed in content as her warm fingers gently stroked his neck. His head sagged further in his hands and he had to fight to remain awake and not slide in the water.

Stella watched with delight as Mac was almost limp in her hands now. Gently, she helped him to rest his back against the tub to attend to his other wound.

"Thanks," she heard him muttered as she pressed the sponge near the stitches, cleaning the dry blood clotted around it.

"You're welcome," she whispered as she looked up to meet his green eyes turning into a clear crystal blue. He leaned back his head against the tub, a soft smile of delight grazing his lips as his eyes finally shut.

She smiled back at him as he closed his eyes, completely relaxed although the situation had started as a real awkward one for him. Then, she finished with his wound and began to clean his face. Gently, the warm water washed away the brown dust still stuck on his cheeks and forehead, then she slid the sponge to his chest. A soft moan escaped his lips as the warm, bath tool caressed his chest and she followed the curves of his well-built muscles, indulging herself of doing it again but with another goal in mind. Releasing a deep sigh, she scolded herself for having those thoughts while he was just giving her his fragile trust and reminded herself, that he was broken and in need of her friendship first, the rest, if it could ever happen, should wait. So, slowly she left the sponge in the warm water, and stood up, gazing at her quiet partner finally resting. With a deep breath, she resisted the urge of brushing his hair and left. It was time for him to have his privacy and relax in silence. With a quick glance towards him, she closed the door behind him, a wide smile of content grazing her lips.

Mac felt a soft cold wind brushed his wet chest and heard a door closed somewhere. But too tired to open his eyes, he slowly slumbered in a more, deserved rest, the world shutting down around him.

_**...TBC

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**A/N:** Again, sorry for the delay but since this story is beta read, then it takes more time on editing. So, I hope it still works with you guys.

As always you can leave a comment and let me know what you thought of this part.

_Coming up next...__Eternal Flame_


	13. Nightmares

**Chapter 13: **Nightmares

**A/N:** Darkness is back...Well, this chapter is quite long and go deep in the darkness actually. It's a vital turning point into the story, so I hope it will work out for you and please read the warning before the story. Also, it's long because I didn't want to cut in the middle and have only the dark side and left Hope apart. So if you feel sad, you can either use this chapter to let go some steam and cry or pass your way and come back later. Either way it's fine to cry, I did when I wrote some parts; it makes us human and shows our heart.

As always a big thank you to all who continuously reviewed this story. Thanks too, to anyone who put this fic in their fav or alert, or just read and up the stats. Lol.

And a special thank you to Blackdragon189 who, besides her own work and busy RL, still finds the time to beta this story. Thanks Girl!

**Summary:** presumed lost, Mac has finally been rescued. But now he has to deal with the aftermath of memory loss and stress. Stella and the team step up to help him, while his nemesis are looking to take their revenge on him. Angsty Smacked...team friendship. CHAP 13 UP!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, besides the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

_**Warning: **__this chapter deals with PTSD's aftereffects and there's mention of torture. So be advised, this chapter will tend to go deep in angst and comfort.

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Gee, that guy was like a damn cockroach, cursed Martin. The more you tried to kill him and the more he survived. Though he had to admit this time it hadn't been in his plan to kill Taylor, and the Boss would surely have his ass if anything had happened to him. But he couldn't suppress an admirative sigh at the cop that had not survived twice but three times to his traps. He sighed. So okay for this time, he was somehow glad Taylor had made it out. But when the time would come to finish him, he would really have to make sure that he was really dead.

Martin thought a moment as he watched Stella's building. With this kind of Irish luck and his chick following him everywhere, Taylor wasn't going to be easy to eliminate. Obviously, his previous tactic had worked out, luring him to a trap was a good thing, but next time, his friends might be there too, looking out for him. Meaning he would have to be more creative. A snowplow passed in the street and pushed some snow against his car. Martin cursed. Now he would have to get the snow out because of that damned truck. But for Taylor, the problem remained. Next time the boss would ask him to take him out, then, he would have to be very careful to get him alone. His phone went off. Speaking of which. He frowned as he looked at the caller ID of his phone.

"Yeah, boss?"

"How's Taylor?" asked the boss with a wicked voice.

"Not so good, actually. He kinda ran into..." Martin's voices trailed off. Should he really tell the boss about the explosion that had almost killed Taylor and two of his friends? He cursed mentally. Of course the thing was going to be in the news shortly and then, the boss would ask him if they had been behind it or not. He sighed, resigned. "Well, he tried to come to one of our hide-outs uninvited, and since I had trapped the place, well...he..."

"Is he dead?" growled the boss, anger rising in his voice. "I told you not to..."

"Nah, not dead, boss. Just shaken a bit. He managed to get out with a few bruises, that's all." A long silence followed Martin's words, and he wondered a minute if he was still connected. But then, the boss spoke again.

"So it hasn't been a good day for Taylor?" smirked the man on the phone, obviously happy.

Martin frowned, he could feel a smile in his boss' voice. "Yeah, he kinda spit his gut out the minute he was outside. So, yeah, I'd say he's not one hundred percent yet."

"Good. What else do you have?"

"Well, he went to his office today, and his chick made him do the grand tour. He seemed to recall some members of his team, but he's quite messed up."

"Okay, keep me in touch. I want to know the minute he recovers his memory. I have some plans for him. So don't mess up, Marty. I want him to be able to see in his eyes that he lost the fight when he'll give his last breath."

"Yeah, sure boss."

Then the line went dead and Martin looked puzzled at the phone. That mission was really taking a turn he didn't like. Revenge was always a nasty thing that could get you caught. He glanced quickly at the window where his prey should be right now. The light was still on, and since it wasn't that late, he'd better call and check on Tommy to see if his brother wasn't doing anything to compromise his plans.

_**xxx**_

He stirred a little as he felt a warm coat wrapped around him. He felt good and loved as if he was home, though somewhere he heard a voice whispering. Muffled at first, he had a hard time to recognize if he wasn't just imagining it. As he opened his eyes, Mac didn't see much at first, his vision blurred in a foggy, yellow light before him. Swallowing the dread creeping up his chest, he turned around and realized he was still in the bathroom, but alone. _Stella left?_ _Stella_, his mind mulled over her name. Somehow the evocation of her name meant everything inside him when he was saying it, though every time he focused his mind on it to learn more, every feeling or knowledge instantly vanished, leaving him to face a blank page. He sighed feeling suddenly very empty every time she wasn't there. He leaned back his head against the tub and closed his eyes, leaving the warm water heating his aching body. Really, with her he had no answer. It was like his mind was shutting down every time he tried to push to know more. The hot steam coming from the bath rose in the air, and the warm moisture stuck at his scorched skin, leaving small beads all over his body. The warm water was slowly relaxing his tensed muscles, and the thought that Stella wasn't very far, was enough to shave off his doubts. He felt great and within minutes his mind drifted away.

But not ready to sleep yet, he fought the heavy sleep. He wanted to rub his face but realized with a frown his hands were paralyzed. Forcing his eyes open, he was greeted by a glowing light coming from far before him. He frowned and noticed he wasn't in the tub anymore. His heart skipped in his chest wondering where he was. Around him, walls had crumbled and a white, thick dust was flying in the air, making it hard to breathe without coughing. For a second, he feared he was back in the dark hole. A panel was pressing on his chest, and for a moment, panic seized his mind before he realized he could move and lift the panel stuck over him. As he removed it, a long heavy bar fell down and the whole place trembled around him. His heart stopped, waiting anxiously to be crushed once and for all, but nothing came. Swallowing back his anxiety, he pulled himself out of the wreck. His neck was burning and throbbing madly. Carefully, he pulled on his jacket and found a smear of blood staining his white shirt on his right side. He closed his eyes firmly, trying to stabilize the spinning world around him. Then, he took a step out of the wreck, and called. He frowned, trying to comprehend what he was saying but his own voice was muffled, and soon he crumbled on his knees near a man he had only met once today. Only this time the man wasn't moving or talking, except for a fast tremor running through him as he was about to give his last breath. His eyes darted to his abdomen and met a pool of blood where his stomach should have been. _Oh God. _Mac closed his eyes, trying to stop the rising bile invading his mouth. In slow motion, he saw with horror his fingers rummaging sickly in the man's gut and screamed. This couldn't be real. He hadn't done that. _Don!_ He heard his voice yelled in pain.

"That's what you are," commented a voice near him. "You're no hero." The voice spilled out in disgust. "You're a coward."

He blinked and the crushed building disappeared to be replaced by a gloomy room, laced by green lasers around him. The air was humid and a strong stench invaded his senses.

"You gonna pay," the voice repeated as he saw in fear a gun pointed at him and the trigger pushed.

Mac closed his eyes again hoping to shave away that vision and somehow it worked. The gun disappeared, and the voice too. He swallowed hard the throbbing pain and bile coursing through his body. What had he done? Why so much hatred against him from this man? And why was he seeing Don dying? He breathed slowly, his heart beating too fast for him. He had to be dreaming, this couldn't be real. He hadn't hurt Don like that. Stella had said he was a good guy. So why had he hurt that cop like that? Pain wrenched his side.

_Okay Mac, focus, what's the last thing you remember?_ He breathed out deeply, crumbling on his knees_. Stella, _his mind shot in victory after few seconds, _I was with Stella. And now I'm here, so it can't be real._ He looked around him, the air was thick, a cold humidity sticking at his skin. He shivered and his body was run by long tremors as he couldn't shake the cold. He sighed in pain. He was in some kind of gloomy room though he couldn't be sure as it was too dark to even see the wall. But the faint light coming from under a heavy door lighted enough the place to know that it was a room. It wasn't possible, he wasn't here, he should be in a warm bath, not here. Where the hell was he?

Then he felt his heart rate increased quickly as he heard footsteps and muffled voices getting closer. A feeling of dread invaded his body, he didn't like it. He had to get away, there was a nasty feeling with these voices. Realizing he was lying on a cold damp ground covered with mold, he took support on his hands and tried to stand.

With a cold fear nestling in the pit of his stomach, he realized it was hard to move. His body was writhed by a wrenching pain, especially his legs and each move torn at his muscles. He muffled a groan. His heart racing in his chest, and his breath short. He looked down at his body. Dizziness shaded his mind, and he had to focus hard to keep his vision clear. Then, he discovered with despair that he was wearing an old rag for shirt and his pants was cut in several places, leaving his legs uncovered and bloody. As the footsteps grew closer his heart hammered in his chest, his mind screaming to get the hell out of there. But he couldn't move or even have crawled toward some darkness in a corner. Cold sweat slipped along his spine while panic invaded his mind. Something was wrong and he had to get out quickly. Again, he tried to stand but it was vain as his body refused to move, his legs being the most farouche opponents. His breath short and rasping, he looked down and finally noticed the blood smearing his left leg. He moved his leg but let escape a moan of pain as a hot, iron pain exploded and wrenched his entire being. His face contorted in pain, both hands clung at his leg, desperate to soothe the hot tearing pain. His breath short and shallow, he laid back his flushed face and his forehead beaded in sweat against the cold ground. His torn shirt stuck to his back as he leaned on the damp cold ground, already exhausted. He muffled his screams, and heard the voices getting closer now.

Lying on the ground and unable to defend himself; he watched in aweas the old, wooden door opened. Its hinges hissed in pain to reveal the shape of two large men standing in the doorway. Mac raised on his elbows to support his body, and one of the men said something to the other before both started in a sick laugh. Then, to his dismal, both stepped inside his jail and stopped beside him, exchanging few words he couldn't understand. With sick grins, they both grabbed him by his armpits and started to harshly drag him out.

His body screamed in pain at the tension his weary muscles were forced to endure. He didn't know where they were taking him but he had a gut feeling he wasn't going to like it. The pain in his leg was excruciating as he could feel it dragged and scratching limply at the soil beneath him. He tried to stand on the good one, but they were walking too fast for him to succeed. His head sagged before him too exhausted to hold it, the pain overwhelming his senses.

His body slipped from his jailers and they had to tug twice on his rags not to lose their grips. Then, he finally managed to raise his head and looked ahead toward the small light at the end of the gloomy corridor. He clenched his jaw as he was roughly dragged into another room bathed this time with a bright, scorching light. He closed his eyes, the cold, white light cruelly biting into them which had become used to darkness. He swallowed his fear, hoping it was just a nightmare, and that soon he would wake up, and Stella would be there. But he wasn't waking up, and everything felt too real to be a nightmare... and the pain...the pain was real. It was etching inside his muscles and bones, eating and biting at him like an angry, wild animal. He heard more voices and sick laughs around him but couldn't see them as a cold hand wrapped harshly around his neck and he was smashed against the ground. His lungs emptied and he fought madly to find some feelings back into his numb limbs and to defend himself. He groaned in pain, his face deep into the dusty mold. Then, hard knees sank violently into his back, hurting his ribs and he realized he must have broken some as a hot needle spiked inside his lungs. He closed his eyes muffling the hot pain. If one of his lungs was punctured he wasn't going to last long. Strong calloused hands twisted his arms behind his back, and panic surged inside him while other hands were pining his head to the ground. _No!_ his mind yelled. The iron grips ensnared his wrists before cold shackles bit into his tender flesh, trapping him for good.

Thick packs of dust coated with his sweaty face and blood remained stuck to his face as he was roughly lifted up. He coughed, trying to catch his breath while his body sagged dangerously. But the tugs that had picked him from his jail helped him to stand, supporting part of his weight between them. Though, they didn't help him so much as every time he was losing his balance he was putting weight on his broken leg and finished with a hissing moan. His breath whizzed between his clenched teeth, slowly trying to slow down his heart rate. With the small amount of strength he had, he tried to clear his blurred vision. He could feel this wasn't good. Whatever was going to happen he knew he was going to need as much calm and strength, he could muster. So he took a deep breath and looked before him.

A small man with a dark beard and dressed in old, desert fatigues stepped before him and spoke. His face was covered with dust. Mac swallowed as he tried to comprehend what the man wanted from him, though after his frequent glances toward the large bucket he started to have a pretty good idea of what it was about. He frowned and shook his head. The man's words made no sense to him. Was he even really speaking or just voicing weird sounds? Seeing that he wasn't answering, the little man gave him a nasty smile and a bad feeling nestled in the pit of his stomach.

Then, without warning, the tugs that held him pushed him forward. He watched in dread the large bucket filled with dark, thick water growing bigger. Ten feet from it, the bucket reeked of an old, nasty stench. Whatever had filled the bucket before was now much older and much dirtier. His heart hammered loudly behind his ears. The minute his chest collided with the edge of the bucket, two pairs of strong hands thrust his head under the nasty water. In a quick move for survival, he filled his lungs with all the air he could take in just as his head was sunk into the cold, stenchy liquid. His whole body froze under the freezing liquid invading his ears and nose, ensnaring his neck in a cold choke hold.

Pushing hard on his upper chest to lift his head, Mac found with fear more hands trying to keep his head under the cold waters. He twisted and squirmed furiously, not ready to die, and trying to free his head from their nasty touch. But they had several advantages on him, they could see while he was plunged in total darkness, and they were free and outnumbered him. His heart pounded madly behind his temples as his lungs started to gasp in need for air. But as he continued to wriggle and fight, even pushing on his broken leg, kicking the limbs that surrounded him; his body writhed in pain as a vicious blow hit his back. It paralyzed his erratic moves, his weary body slowly shutting down.

This couldn't be real his mind screamed in fear as his lungs burned in need for air. His body sagged limply in the hand of his jailers. He prayed that this was all a nightmare. That he was going to wake up, he wasn't drowning. In a blurriness, and his head throbbing madly, he tried to make sense of what was happening to him. You wouldn't torture people for information and let them die by doing so; surely they would let him breathe at one point. _But when?_ yelled his mind, his lungs on fire. He couldn't hold on any longer. But then, a terrifying idea crossed his mind; what if these tugs were careless and unable to carry orders. Panic filled his mind as he squirmed desperately to set free but another nasty blow pierced through his wounded ribs, and the last remnants of his strengthwaned. His mouth opened in reflex in search of a much needed breath of air. Water immediately filled his throat and he gulped it down in a reflex, filling his lungs with the dirty, stench-filled liquid. His whole body trembled as more water filled him while he desperately tried to breathe. The more he sucked in for air and the more water was filling his lungs. He couldn't breathe. He was drowning and none of his jailers seemed to care about it. His strength abandoned him. His body sagged heavily in the calloused hands pinning him to his death. As his mind drifted toward darkness, he wondered where was the nice and warm place he was before. Where was Stella? What had happened to her? And why was he here at the first place?

_**xxx**_

With a worried frown, Stella set the burning pot on the small table in front of the TV. The steaming soup filled the air of the main room with its sweet aroma. Letting out a deep sigh, she headed back to the kitchen to grab the cups they would need. Seeing how tired Mac was, she had opted for a liquid meal, one that she hoped, he would get down quickly as she assumed he would be sleeping in no time. The couch would be the best place as well to rest and take a break. Her eyes scanned the closet and she grabbed finally two large, flashy pink cups. She smiled as she remembered the first time Mac had seen those. He had commented lightly on her color, not really to bother her, but more as they usually did to lighten the mood and start one of their teasing games that could lead their thoughts on trivial subjects and take the work out of their minds. Though she usually was the one to initiate them, that day he had been the one to initiate it. The same surprise had been him visiting her as he rarely did, respecting too much her no-man policy, but that day had been different. Frankly, it had been after a hell of a week. Especially after one of their friend had been found guilty of the murder of his lover's wife. She sighed, this case had been tough on both of them, especially Mac. Finding that his old buddy had used them to seek revenge and coldly planned a murder was beyond Mac's understanding. Friends remained friends; they couldn't use each other for cold blooded murder, at least not in Mac Taylor's world.

She sadly closed her eyes as she remembered that Mac, right now had no memory of this. In a way she was glad that at least he couldn't remember the bad things that had happened to him. But somehow she wondered if it wasn't yet those cruel and horrible things that had happened to him that had made him the man he was today. Would he be very different if the world had been nice on him? She shook her head, no, the Mac she used to know before Claire had died, was charming and playful, but also smart and caring. Her death had only hidden his light side and playful attitude. She knew that this side remained a part of who he was, and she hoped and prayed that one day it would resurface after he'd been healed.

Without thinking, her steps led her to the TV where she left the cups on the table and turned a deep frown towards the bathroom. She had heard something. Turning down the volume, she listened carefully. Her heart stopped when she heard Mac's painful voice calling for help. Rushing to the bathroom, she opened the door in a whoosh and almost screamed at what she saw.

Mac was in the tub, but his body had slipped down and his head was now under the water. His arms madly shaved the air, elbowing in panic the edge of the tub.

_He's drowning,_ her mind screamed in horror as she ran to him and grabbed his arms. But his wet, slippery body escaped her fingers and he fell back with a sickening splash into the now red water. Without processing further the damage she could inflict him, she seized him under his armpits, and got his head out of the water. But it was too late, his wet body went limp in her arms, and his erratic moves froze in the air. In panic, she lifted him with desperate energy. He was heavy and slippery, and she had to tighten her slippery grasp around him not to let him fall back in the red water. Pulling him toward her with a desperate energy, she finally got his chest against her. But his weight combined to her fears made her lose her balance, and they both fell loudly on the bathroom floor. The cold, hard tiles greeted angrily her right hip, and she muffled a groan while Mac sprawled over her, his head sagging on her shoulder. Her heart beating rapidly in her chest, as he wasn't moving, she quickly rolled on her side with him. She carefully cuddled his chest and head pressed against her as she moved him. As he rolled limply on the wet tiles, his right arm slipped from his wet chest, and to the floor as life had abandoned him. _Oh, God. _The world froze around her the moment she saw his white, pale face.

"Mac?" she screamed frantically as she kneeled beside him. She prayed she hadn't been too late. Her throat unable to speak, her eyes glued to his chest, desperately watching to see it rise. Hopelessly still, her hands joined, she placed herself over him, ready for chest compressions. But then, she watched with relief as his body suddenly retched in pain, struggling to spill the water out of his lungs.

"Mac?...Mac?" she called in fear as he spewed out more water, his arms too weak to move beside him. Quickly, she helped him by rolling him to his side. His head lolled on the tiles as he coughed out more water.

Her hand reached out for the side of his pale face. She gently stroked his wet hair as he stopped coughing, and breathed in short, harsh rasps; the air whizzing between his clenched teeth.

"It's okay, Mac. It's okay," she soothed with a warm voice, reassuring his trembling body that whatever it was, it was over now. She carefully wrapped her arms around his wet, shivering body, pulling him to her embrace. Her cheek leaned against the wet skin of his face, as he weakly hissed to breathe. Sorrow filling her heart, she tightened her hold around him, hoping to stop the small tremors that ran through him. Her fingers gently pressed over his wet, bare chest, feeling his heart hammering madly in his chest. "It's okay, Mac," she softly spoke. "You're here with me, now."

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open and reality dawned on him where he was. With relief, he recognized Stella's voice. His lips let escape a weary sigh as he tried to move and felt her warm hands holding him. He felt weak and weary, and even keeping his eyes open was a task too big right now. But slowly, in his blurred vision appeared the creamy tiles of the floor where his head lay. They span around him as if he was on a merciless boat and his stomach churned in pain.

"Stell..." he croaked, his throat still hoarse from the harsh cough.

Breathing heavily, he blinked to shave the thick veil covering his eyes. His hands flat on the floor and the tiles still swaying around him, he tried to push himself up. He felt dizzy, and too drained, his hands slipped aimlessly on the wet tiles. His chest fell back heavily. Unable to muster enough energy for standing, or even moving, he let his arms rest on his sides with a deep sigh, and a tearing moan. His head drooped back wearily on the cold floor, and his chapped lips brushed the wet tiles. His warm breath brought a small cloud before his mouth on the floor as he fought to focus his blurry vision. But he had a hard time thinking, and everything was swaying too much. So he finally shut his eyes, hoping the world would stop moving.

"I'm here Mac," Stella replied, her voice stuck in her throat from the tearful vision of Mac being so weak at his vain attempt to raise only his chest. Her arms wrapped back his chest while her eyes quickly scanned the bathroom and she finally noticed the small dots of blood, smearing the creamy tiles. She tightened her hold around him as he shivered restlessly, his wet body cooling at the contact of the air. Then, slowly, his heaving chest began to slow down his erratic rhythm of rise and fall.

"You're gonna be alright," she reassured him, her voice soft and comforting, though she had no idea how she was going to help him with what he was going through. She had no clue of what had just happened? In a complete loss of answers how could she help him? But as Mac slightly trembled in her arms, his back pressed against her chest, she knew she had to try. Whatever had happened to him, PTSD or accident, she would be there for him.

_**xxx**_

The white, neon lamps brightened the small room where, she and Sheldon had deposited the bathtub on a large, black tarp. The white tub smeared in blood and soot looked old fashioned and had been pretty heavy to get out from the ruins. Lindsay glanced at Sheldon.

"So where do you think we should start?" she asked with a grin.

Obviously, with the bright light they could see that the tub had a long story to tell. At first when they had turned it over in the ruins she had just expected to see an old, dirty tub, which is what happened. But inside that nasty tub lay another painful story. The whole thing was smeared with traces of blood, and obvious signs of battle and bloody prints. She had already taken lots of pictures of every corner of the thing, knowing that the blood had remained frozen because of the cold weather, and now in the lab, things could change quickly. So time wasn't on their side.

Sheldon sighed, knowing Lindsay was more than competent and had only asked his advice to be friendly. "I'll get the prints, you get the traces," he said with a firm glance.

"Then, let's do it," she replied with a sigh. Maybe they would finally get some answers for Mac.

Taking her kit, she rubbed a swab on a trace of blood, then another one inside the tub. Turning around the tub, she frowned and grabbed a blue light. Her orange shades on, the light shaved the outside of the bathtub. "Sheldon?" she called, needing confirmation.

Having collected two prints on the edge of the bathtub, he turned to see what she was doing and put his own glasses on. He nodded.

"What you make of this?" she said, the light showing a long row of blood drops and blue fluid glowing on the same line.

"Medium velocity blood spatter," he said bitterly.

"Yep, but the fluid looks to me as if it went along with the blood," she replied thinking.

He shook his head. "Maybe saliva? If Mac had been in a fight, then he or his aggressor could have spilled that blood and some saliva with the force of the blow."

"Let's check. If it's the same DNA with the blood, and not from Mac, then we might have the beginning of what happened." She crouched near the glowing dots and took a sample. At the same time, she took another one from the black soot smearing the right side of the tub, covering most of the previous blood.

_Must have been spread on it after the blood._ In fact, apart from the clean blood samples she had gathered on the other side of the tub, this side was messy, and the traces of blood were covered by the thin, black soot. She frowned, noticing a dent made in the porcelain ceramic. One inch wide, the dent was protruding on the inside and all around the surface it was chipped. But with no rust on it, she assumed this had been done recently. Whatever had made that dent had been thrust with a lot of strength, and had made quite an impression, she realized, as this kind of tub, were resistance to a lot of things, even flames and acid. So one couldn't pierce ceramic that easily. She pouted, her mind worrying about what had happened to Mac. But at least, with this dent she would have a good print of what it was. But the black soot smearing one side of the tub, and the dent was leading her to make some first assumption. It was clearly the evidence of a fire followed by projection, like an explosion. She tightened her lips; an explosion again. God, but just how many lives had Mac left before the last blow would kill him. She sighed; she started to believe that Danny was right. If they didn't find who was behind all this, this whole case could really end with Mac's death. Her heart squeezed and she frowned. No, it couldn't be. Mac was strong and she had to keep her mind on this hope. _Focus, Linds! Focus!_

Then, her eyes settled on the inside of the tub. There were traces of blood in the middle and near one side. Bending over, she took several samples and discovered a strand of thin, brown, matted hair, caked with blood. Her heart squeezed as it could only be Mac's. She put it in a small evidence bag. Looking more carefully at the rest of the tub, she quickly noted several, partial footprints opposed to where she had found the hair. With her kit, she measured them and took several pictures of them. Then, carefully, she applied a transparent tape over it. Biting her lower lip, she took a sample from the mud belonging to the prints and at the same time discovered a hair, but this time it was black and thick._ Not Mac's. _Continuing her search, she scanned the middle of the tub, she noticed some silver scraping and her heart skipped in her chest. Her mind already knowing with what the silvery color could match too: _Mac's cuffs._ Taking a step back, a quick image of Mac's cuffed wrists grazing the tub appeared in front of her. _Could be that. _But she would have to check to be sure.

She sighed this whole case was difficult, not just because one of their own was the vic, and having your boss out of order didn't really help, but mostly because until now, they didn't get a lot of evidence for a lead. She sighed. They had found nothing on Mac's clothes after processing them. No, the mud had covered his clothes and had mixed with any elements that he could have garnered from his aggressor, and his stay in the frozen water hadn't helped either. She really hoped that with this tub and the elements gathered at Medriano's place they would finally get a lead. For now, they weren't even sure of what had happened to Mac. No witness, especially with him having no memory at all, and the weather hadn't played to his favor. So yeah, they really needed a break this time, and possibly something that wouldn't explode in their faces like the last time.

In her inner pocket, her phone went off and she picked it up, stepping aside to let Hawkes collect the rest of the prints.

"Danny? Everythin' okay? I mean, Mac and..." She started, her heart skipping in her chest, praying that nothing more had happened. She quickly exchanged a worried glance with Sheldon as the former ME stopped waiting for the same news that she was waiting for.

"Linds," interrupted Danny. "They're okay. But I need you to go to Medriano's place. The ATF and the FDNY had cleared the place, so we can go process it now."

She closed her eyes and sighed in relief. She nodded with a small smile toward Sheldon. "I got to go, will you be alright?"

Sheldon nodded with a smile. "I think I'll be able to manage," he said with a small grin. It was part of a quiet banter to tease each other about his or her ability to manage a scene. Even if it never happened often, it always helped to set a better mood for the one who remained behind.

"Okay," she answered with a small smile. "Danny?" she said on the phone. "I'll be there in a few."

"Okay, thanks, Linds," Danny answered, his voice smiling at his wife.

"Oh don't worry, you'll get plenty of time to thank me when we get home." Her cheeks warmed suddenly as Sheldon glanced at her with a smile, before she exited the room.

She heard Danny laugh, before the line went dead, and she knew that at least she was still able to bring a smile to her husband's face. And considering the latest news, it wasn't an easy task.

_**xxx**_

Stella brushed back his damp hair and turned off the light on the nightstand. Gently, she covered his shivering body with a warm blanket, and sat beside him on the bed. She sighed as she looked at his tired features. Gently, she cuddled his cold hand in hers, remembering how hard it had been for him to simply walk after his last outbreak. His feet shuffling, and grating the carpet, as he had leaned heavily on her. His eyes were almost closed when he had crashed on the bed, and she had to roll him over to help him get into bed. It was like his whole body had just shut down and nobody was in command anymore. Her lips tight, her soft gaze caressed his face.

She hadn't realized how long they had remained in the bathroom, her cradling him in her arms like a scared, trembling child. She shivered at the thought of what could shake her partner like that. Even since he had lost his memory, he had managed to keep a poker face and hide his pain and discomfort from her. But this, in the bathroom, had shaken her more than she would ever admit it. She had never thought that anything could have that kind of impact on him, apart from the day he had lost Claire. Maybe it was his last trauma that had lowered down his mental barriers, making him vulnerable to any showdown, or it was his memory loss, which had sent him to a world he had nothing to hang on to. She sighed, whatever it was, it wasn't a good sign. It meant that whatever he had been dreaming of couldn't be a product of his imagination. Mac Taylor had never been afraid of his nightmares. She knew that. So if something was gnawing angrily at him it had to be real. Her lips tight, she observed him for a moment. He had never talked about his past, and she feared that something unresolved could be one of his latest triggers. She sighed heavily. Trembling, he cuddled upon himself as if he was trying to brace himself from something coming his way.

She let out another tired sigh, and tenderly brushed his damp hair, her fingers gently circling around his left ear. He was burning, and restless, his eyes fluttering to stay open. Her worried gaze rested upon his tensed features. One of her deepest fears was that she had to admit that maybe he would have never let anything surfaced on his own. So somehow, if she was there to help him to deal with what was back to haunt him, it could be a chance to help him start over, and healed as she had wished for him. Her lips tight, she hoped she was right about it. Gently, she stroked his cheek, her calm voice reassuring him. With small satisfaction, she watched as slowly he slumbered into a much deserved sleep.

"Sweet dreams," she whispered to his ear as her breath caressed his cheek and she deposited a warm kiss on his forehead. As if he had heard her, he stirred a little, and she watched to see if he was waking up. But his eyes remained close, his body still under the warm blanket. Gently, she put his hand back under the covers and tiptoed toward the door. Only on the threshold, she glanced back at his frail form curled under the covers and hoped that he could finally rest.

_**xxx**_

"Gee!" voiced angrily Danny as he slipped on a charred piece of wood and almost fell lamentably to the ground. But thanks to his cane, he managed to remain up, but not without letting escape a small wince from the pressure put on his hips and back. _Damn it, Danny! Be careful! Not the time to break your back alright._

A deep sigh echoed from behind him as he felt a hand gently pressed under his arm and helped him to steady himself. "Told ya, you shouldn't be here," scolded gently Lindsay.

"Yeah, well, they're my friends as much as yours, Linds," said Danny as he hobbled near the window and peered down the street.

"It's not what I meant and you know it." She lightly replied, knowing he wasn't really angry after her.

"Sorry, Linds, but with this," he said, pointing at the mess they were in. "Mac used his third lucky cards and this time, Stella and Don weren't far from becoming casualties too," he voiced angrily. He gave her a sorry glance. "Didn't mean to snap." He apologized. "Sorry."

"I know, but Adam and I are quite capable of handling a crime scene without you. Besides, when Mac would be back to his old self you can be sure he's gonna be pissed off you didn't remain in the lab as he ordered you, though Stella might deal with you much sooner," she quipped with a small smirk.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I just came to take a look," he dropped, his sight shaving the scattered pieces of charred wood and wall on the ground.

"Right, it had nothing to do with your revengeful side?" replied bitterly Lindsay as she bent over a long shaft and examined it with her light. It looked like the remains that had, according to Flack, supported the shotgun.

Danny glanced furtively towards his wife rummaging through pieces of wood and tagging some of them, before she grabbed a long shaft and stared at it. He had to admit it was hard to swallow that someone was after Mac and that whatever they had done until now hadn't been enough. He sighed. And knowing that once again his life had been in danger, with this time Stella and Don becoming potential DOA too, was just making his blood boil. He clenched his jaw, it was like their enemy knew each of their moves and how they would proceed to clean the scene and left as less evidence as possible. Who were these guys?

"Danny," called Lindsay, bringing him back to reality. "Look at that."

He turned a pair of wide eyes as he stared at the broken shaft of a shotgun. "Must be the thing that shot at Mac." He turned towards the door, his mind replaying what had happened, and the shotgun firing, digging a big hole in the door and missing his friend by an inch. _Yeah, Mac really got lucky._ But he couldn't shake the bad feeling he had about all this. At one point one would run out of luck and it would be over.

He closed his eyes, remembering Mac's troubled face when they had met in his office this morning. His clothes were a bit too loose for him to give him the same aura of strength and power he used to, though it wasn't what had really mattered to Danny. And besides the shadows lingering in his friend's eyes, what had really shaken him was his words._ Messer._ It seemed so cold and empty of Mac's natural warmth. Did Mac really remember him beside his name and the fact he was married? It was like his heart hadn't been there, but only a cold mind. That warmth usually conveyed by his turquoise, ocean eyes had been gloomily absent. But somehow Stella hadn't seemed to be bothered by it and Danny really wondered why. Okay, she had spent all her time with him since he had been released from the hospital, but even that, she seemed to expect another thing from him. Was there anything more behind Mac's odd behavior that the pair were hiding from the team? He sighed. He wasn't sure, but he could bet there was something more with Mac, he just hoped they would be able to help their friends and do it fast.

_**xxx**_

Pacing the living room, Stella glanced at the pink cups she had set a few hours before and sighed. She couldn't believe what had happened. What was happening to them? What was really going on with her partner? How could he be in danger in her own apartment? She swallowed slowly her fears, slumping heavily into the couch. Was he breaking into small pieces? Would he ever be alright at all? And why hadn't he been able to get out of the tub? She couldn't believe he had remained almost absent for the most part of it. What was really going on in his mind? Fidgeting nervously with her phone in her hands she decided she had to call him, after all he had told her not to hesitate and besides, seeing Mac's state, he would need at least a quick checkup tomorrow. She closed her eyes trying to shave away the image of his reopened stitches that had slowly reddened the water in the bath. After helping him to dress up, well literally dressing him up as he was too drained to make a move; she had applied a small dressing over his reopened stitches, hoping it would be enough for the night.

Sighing, she dialed his number, hoping he would bring her some answers.

"Dr Shen's office," answered a young woman's voice.

"Hi, I'm Detective Bonasera, and I..." she began before the voice cut her short.

"Ah, Detective," answered quickly the young woman. "The doctor asked me to pull you through if you called. Can you wait a second please?"

"Sure." Shen had asked his secretary to pull her through right away? She began to be really worried now. She frowned.

"Detective? Is everything okay with Detective Taylor?" echoed Dr Shen's voice.

"Not exactly," she sighed.

"I was expecting your call. I'm sorry, tell me what happened?"

Stella looked at the window, the bright lights of the city glowing in the night. "I don't really know. One minute he was taking a bath and the next he was drowning and screaming. I... I never saw him act like that."

"It's odd, you're right. But I must say I'm not surprised. It's due to his trauma. Did he ever have any trouble with water in his life? Did he drown as a child or anything special happened on a boat?"

Stella thought a moment. "Not that I can recall." she sighed, and now she couldn't help Mac because she didn't know enough about him.

_Damn it!_ All these years, more than ten years of friendship and she couldn't answer those simple questions. Was he fearing the water? She cringed internally. It's true he had never spoken too much of his past, but she had never really tried to push to know more. Maybe she had been afraid of finding things that would break the beautiful image of the hero she had in her mind. And maybe she hadn't tried enough and that's why he had never talked. Her lips tight in remorse, she closed her eyes and promised herself that when he would get better, she would ask him about his past. She would do whatever it takes to overcome their own tendency to remain each aside and talk only in time of need. No, she needed to know more, she wanted to know more, to help him. In fact, she was starting to understand why he had been so frustrated when he had woken up at the hospital. It wasn't the things she had hidden. No, she just had no real clue about his past, and that's what had pissed him off. What kind of friend was she, if she didn't try to know him better? _Damn it!_ She should have known that he needed to talk, but busy with her own wounds and Jess' death, they had put so many things aside. And now he was lying trembling in her bed, shaken by whatever thing that had happened to him and she couldn't help because she had no clue of what it was.

Of course if he had screamed about a white cloud or something like that, she would have had a clue. But that? Drowning? What the hell had happened to him? Furthermore, he lived n a city surrounded by water, so if he really had any trouble with water she would have noticed by now. He wouldn't have taken boats during their last case, though knowing Mac, even afraid he would have sucked it up and put a brave face. But yet, she was inclined to think she could see the difference between his brave face put voluntarily and when he was really fine. The voice of Dr Shen, pulled her out from her reverie.

"Detective Bonasera?" Dr Shen called.

"Huh, yes, sorry. I..." She replied tiredly.

"It's okay, Detective Bonasera. How is he now?"

"He's sleeping." She sighed, at least she hoped he was.

"Okay, why don't you come with him tomorrow?" asked Dr Shen. "We'll run some test and see how he is."

"Well, I was thinking about it. He reopened his stitches and it's not nice to see."

"Ah, did he bleed a lot?"

"No, I don't think so." Come to think of it, the water in the tub had been really red when she had released the tap, she realized. But then, she had put new dressings over his wounds just as he was beginning to fall asleep and it didn't seem to look so bad, though with the faint light she couldn't swear it wouldn't have looked that good. "We'll come to see you first thing in the morning then." She finished.

"Okay, I'll be waiting for you," replied Shen as he hung up.

She stared at the night sky falling over the city and let out a deep sigh following the slow descent of the snow. The weather channel was forecasting another three days of freezing weather, with strong gust of wind and freezing temperatures, with only a calm weather tomorrow. Her arms crossed over her chest in a vain effort of shaving away the small shivers she felt. But she knew how futile it was. She was shivering because of Mac's state and not really from the cold_. At least he's here and safe,_ her mind repeated to calm her fears. _He's not alone anymore, he's with you and you both are going to make it._ She sighed. They had to. Her shadow still reflected in the window, she dialed her second correspondent, hoping for better news.

"Danny?" The young man answered her with a slur as he had just woken up. "You okay, Danny?"

"Yeah, yeah, just dozed off, sorry."

Stella checked her watch, it was around nine and as neither Mac nor she was in the lab, Danny was taking over their bad habits. She smiled weakly at the young man's dedication. "Did you find anything?"

"Huh? Sorry, no. We got samples from the blast in Medriano's place and Lindsay is comparing it to the explosive's samples we got from the ruins and the bath tub, but so far we didn't get much. I'm really sorry, Stella."

"Not your fault, Danny."

"I wish I had better news," he paused as if he was thinking about something. "How you guys doin'?" his tone was low and asking for more than a simple, casual answer.

She sighed inwardly. How could she tell him about Mac? He didn't know about his PTSD asShen had asked herto keep it secret, at least until Mac knew himself and could choose if he wanted the others to know. Though she knew his answer. He would probably keep that a secret.

"We're okay, Danny," she lied. But it seemed her lie was too obviously forced as Danny was quick to call her on it.

"Hey, c'mon, Stell, it's me. If now I can feel when you're lying to me, it means it's pretty bad. What's going with Mac? I mean really?" His voice was stronger, filled with worries, and determined to get answers this time.

"I'm sorry, Danny. Don't worry, Mac will be okay." She softly replied. She was too tired to explain anything to Danny, though she could understand his worries.

"So he's not right now?" He was quick to pick from her words.

_Smart ass._ She sighed. "No he's not doing so well. But you know him, Danny. He'll come around eventually." She could hear the long pause her young friend gave her.

"If there's anything I can do, ya know ya don't have to ask right? I'll do it right away."

"I know Danny, and Mac knows that too."

"Maybe we could come visit you guys tomorrow with Lucy, it might cheer him up and awake some of his memory?"

Stella smiled at the warm support Danny was offering. "It would be nice Danny, but I don't know for tomorrow, I'll have to check with Mac and see how he's doing. I don't think we'll go to the office either." But then, if they weren't going to the office, Mac would want to go back to his apartment. And that wasn't a better option either. She cringed at the thought of him reliving Claire's death. That event had nearly killed him, and honestly, she had no idea if he could make it back a second time.

"Oh," muffled Danny a bit disappointed. "Well as long as you guys are fine. Well we'll see anyway."

"Thanks, Danny." She knew he wanted to help, but right now, Mac really needed to rest and get back on his feet at his own pace.

"Stell, you sure you guys are okay?" asked Danny, his voice still full of concerns.

"Yeah, don't worry. We'll do fine."

"Alright, you take care."

She sighed as she hung up and leaned back heavily on the couch. She was tired. This day had been too much to bear. Between seeing Mac almost shot and then the explosion where he had remained frozen for sometime and then that scary moment in the tub was just too much for her. She let out a heavy sigh.

She didn't know for how long she stared at the TV without really watching. The reporter was probably speaking about the latest news but she didn't care. Her mind wasn't up to it. No, in fact she was still in the room with Mac. But tired and drained by this day, her mind finally drifted, only to be startled a little while later. Glancing at her watch she realized she must have dozed off as an hour had passed since she had talked to Danny. She frowned remembering that in her dream someone was calling her name. Listening carefully just in case she was reassured after a quiet minute, and that only silence remained. But then a faint moan came from her bedroom and confirmed her worst fear. In dread of finding her partner in a wreck state like the last time, she rushed to the room and opened it with a whoosh.

Instantly, the corridor's light bathed shyly the room and the man moaning in the middle of the bed. A cold grip ensnared her heart. This time, Mac wasn't drowning, but the spectacle he offered her wasn't to reassure her either. The blankets were rolled and tossed at the foot of the bed, and he seemed in a deep struggle against an invisible force. His body lightly jerked as to set free from an invisible grip. In the second she was by his side, and sitting next to him, she caught his flying wrists as he was about to knock her down. She pinned them down, her heart beating madly and realized with a mix of fear and sorrow that he hadn't resisted much, already too drained to fight her. His lips parted, letting a painful groan escape his throat. His chest heaved in pain through his breath coming in short rasps, just before his back arched to free himself from her grip.

"...'d get nothing from me..." he mumbled, his eyes closed and streaks of sweat dripped to his neck. His whole body was covered in sweat and his t-shirt and pants were now sticking to him.

Stella leaned over him to maintain him still on the bed and to prevent him from harming himself, her hands still pinning his arms to his sides. "Mac, it's me. It's Stella," she called with a wavering voice, hoping to reach him through his nightmare. "You're home and safe, please wake up, Mac."

"...home..." he muffled, as his body arched in pain before it finally gave up and dropped heavily on the damp sheet. Slowly, his erratic moves stopped. "Not home," he whispered, his voice wavering and filled with torment. "...no home for me...not givin' you anythin'," he slurred out. His head lolled to his side, and she could see his glistening veins from his neck throbbing beneath his wet skin.

His words hit her with dread._ Not home?_ "You are at my place, Mac. Remember? You're with me. It's Stella." _Oh God, what had happened to him? What painful secret had he buried inside his tortured soul?_ She swallowed painfully as his back arched again as if he had been struck by an invisible blow. With a tearful moan he fell down exhausted, his breathing now laborious. "Mac, please. It's Stella," she spoke with pain. It hurt her to see him in so much pain and trapped in this nightmare. "Please, Mac." She pleaded, her eyes misting from his torn features.

"...not home," he muffled, grinding his teeth, his forehead creased deeply.

Hoping he wasn't going to fight her again, she slowly released his arms, and cradled his head between her hands, her hip now resting beside his sweaty chest. Her thumbs gently stroked his temples, trying to reach his mind, as her other fingers brushed his hairs. "It's okay, Mac, it's over." She soothed. "You're home now." She stared anxiously at his flushed face. Then, after what seemed an eternity to her, she saw his features slowly relaxed and his eyes fluttered open.

He blinked. "...home?" he murmured, his voice hoarse and unsure.

She smiled warmly at the two thin rays, trying to look at her. "Yes, Mac, home." with a smile, she gently brushed his damp hair, her fingers taking the time to caress his burning forehead. She knew he needed to feel something concrete and real like her fingers on him to keep him grounded to this reality. After that kind of nightmare, it was the only way to get back to reality. With joy she felt him finally relax slowly, his breathing slowing down until his eyes were fully open.

He blinked and finally realized he wasn't being tortured, all these images had been a nightmare, a delirium. It had never happened. He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath; he was safe. He let out a heavy sigh and felt a warm hand caressing his cheek, and brushing his hair. He knew who it belonged to, the same woman who was there every time he was waking up from a nightmare or from the harsh reality; _Stella_. He sighed; she was a constant reminder that reality wasn't that painful. He opened his eyes again and watched as her warm emeralds were carefully observing him, anxiety lingering behind her green jewel.

"I...I'm okay," he tried, but the words came out unnatural and painful before his eyelids shut again. He was too tired to fight and try to give the image of strength he wanted to.

She watched as her partner tried to pull his usual brave face, but the last nightmare and his numerous brushes with death had clearly broken his shield. It broke her heart to see him so vulnerable. Obviously, there was more than one thing that was eating at him. Softly, she brushed back a short strand of wet hair from his forehead. Her fingers gently followed his wet temple before they lingered over his cheek. He shivered under her touch. Her lips tight, she glanced around to the messy bed and the blanket rolled at the foot of the bed. Even with the heater on, her apartment wasn't that warm, and seeing how wet he was, he was going to be cold in a few minutes; if he wasn't already.

"Mac?"

He slowly opened his eyes again, brought back by her calm and soft voice.

"We need to get you out of these clothes," she stated, her eyes pointing at the cold and wet things that stuck to his skin. "You're burning and drenched. Mac you're gonna catch a cold like that."

He nodded slowly and raised his elbows. His body was aching everywhere, he was so tired, and before he knew it he was lying back on the bed, his body having given up on him. Stella called his name as he closed his eyes, his mind still further away from this reality and the place he was. He blinked trying to focus his attention on her but it was hard with the wrenching headache hammering behind his skull.

Her heart squeezed in pain at the weak state he was in. "It's okay," she said, reassuring him when his eyes locked wearily with hers. She gently caressed his forehead. His eyes pleaded her to understand that he was too tired to move right now. "Let me help," she whispered, realizing he couldn't move.

He swallowed, his eyes anchored to hers to remain awake. He was so tired. He felt her hands gently fumbling with his wet t-shirt and slowly pulling it up. A groan escaped his lips as she helped him free his left arm.

She took a slow breath, her eyes not leaving him. He was so weak that he barely moved to remove his t-shirt. Mac was just limp in her hands. And the minute she freed his left arm, it fell back limply on the bed; his eyes fluttering again. She clenched her jaw, trying to be gentle while every move provoked a faint moan of pain from him. She knew he was hurting, but she had to get him out of these wet clothes before he caught a cold, and honestly, seeing his current state she wasn't sure he would resist to that. Then, his right arm was free too, and it slowly fell down to rest over his naked stomach. Carefully, she lifted his head to pull away the rest of his wet t-shirt. His head fell back limply to the fluffy pillow and his eyes immediately shut, exhausted. Her eyes lingered over his sweating chest slowly rising with painful grating breaths. With relief she noted that his dressing was still in place; at least he hadn't pulled more on his stitches. She sighed, but seeing his strength, it was out of the question to think about giving him another t-shirt and to try to move him more. Every move had hurt him, and she had not the heart of hurting him. No he would have to do with this for tonight.

Picking up the covers rolled in a ball, she pulled them over his shivering body. He slowly trembled a minute, before the warmth finally settled in and he became still again. Gently, she picked up his right hand which had fallen from the covers and nestled it in her hands. She muffled a silent prayer for him to have finally a peaceful night, but she wasn't sure anymore. Shen had warned her about PTSD's aftereffects: dissociated personalities, nightmares even awake, angry outbursts. She sighed, so far he had shown the majority of them at one point or another, she just hoped his pills were finally going to work, and he would get better.

A new wave of light tremors coming from his exhausted body brought her back to the reality, and his eyes fluttered open, peering anxiously through the shadows. Her stomach churned at the sight of his frightened look, searching anxiously the small darkness for something to hang on. Then, his eyes settled on her, and he didn't move, staring, probably wondering if she was real, she realized with pain.

She stroked his cheek. "You need to rest," she whispered as she put back his hand under the covers. She bent over him, and laid a warm kiss over his forehead, hoping the Mac she had always known would understand her action. She saw a small sparkle, lighting his eyes and quickly disappeared as if his mind had brought him back a new memory and had ripped it from him right away. Her heart still in pain, she brushed back his wet hair and let out a small sigh. Her lips tight, she finally stood up and headed for the door, her whole body aching by leaving him in such a distress state of mind. But considering his lack of memory with her, and his late showdown, she didn't want to make him uncomfortable by staying over. Her hand nestled around the door handle, resisting to her heart that strongly called her to stay with him. She sighed and as she was about to close the door, to her surprise she heard his sleepy voice broke the silence.

"Stay," his weak voice murmured in torment.

Biting her lower lip she thought a moment, pondering if it was wise to be so close of him while her mind and heart wanted more than anything to hug him and be with him, even more than a friend. Anything could then happen in their frame of mind; anything that both could regret after the things would have finally settled. She looked back at the curled up form fading between the blankets. Even resting, he seemed like the ghost of himself. But as he muffled a weak moan, her decision was made and she closed the door before heading back to the bed. Without another word, she sat beside his cuddled form as if her brief absence had made him colder, and he had tried to find warmth by curling around the covers. A weak, and unsure hand came out of the covers and softly touched her face, carefully grazing her cheek as if she was in thin crystal and on the verge to break.

His heart pounded madly in his chest when his fingers gently stroked her soft skin. _She's real_, his mind shot with hope. "You're not a dream?" he asked weakly, not sure if his fingers could sense the difference between reality or not. Last time, he remembered he had really felt his lungs filling with water, although it had been a nightmare. Could it mean he imagined her skin, he imagined Stella? He frowned, but he had never touched her before, right? Never felt her skin beneath his fingers before this day? So how could he remember it and recreate it. He let out a small sigh, his mind even more confused than before.

Her heart wrenched in pain at the cold realization that he still thought of being in another nightmare. Her lips tight, she nestled his cold hand in hers and brought it to her lips. She laid a soft kiss on his cold fingers, her eyes not leaving his. "I'm real, Mac," she spoke softly and keeping his hand pressed against her heart. Burning tears threatened to well down, but she held them back. His face moved slightly, the faint light of the streets gleaming over his tired features.

"Don't leave," he murmured in torment, his eyes fighting to stay open while his fingers remained firmly clung at her hand. She was his last anchor to reality, his last beacon to remain sane, his hope to survive and escape this chaotic world he had sunk into.

"I'm not," she soothed with a soft voice. Carefully, she crawled up to the bed. She lifted the covers and leaned against his back on the left side of the bed. Immediately, he curled up against her, looking for a reassuring presence. His wet pants rubbed against the sheet while his body sank further into her open arms. Her throat tightened at the gesture of trust and need for comfort coming from Mac. It meant a lot coming from a man who had built so many barriers around him. But in a way, it scared her. It meant he had to feel really down to act like that. Careful not to graze his wounds, she wrapped her arms around his trembling chest.

"I'm right here," she murmured, her fingers gently brushing his wet hair. His body slightly trembled inside her arms. "I'm right here," she repeated as she tightened her hold around him, her chin coming to rest on the top of his head.

Slowly, she felt his shivering fading away and he finally relaxed in her arms. After a while, reassured by his breathing even, sleep finally claimed her.

But like in her worst nightmare, her sleep was short lived as she woke up with a start. She peered through the darkness around her, before realizing that she was home, in her own bed. Then, the faint sobs coming from the man in her arms drew back her attention as painful moans suddenly escaped his throat.

Mac arched in pain, his whole body covered in cold sweat. "I'm not...givin' you...anythin'," he slurred painfully, trembling again.

She closed her eyes, preparing herself for a new wave of tremors. And then, it came, his voice muffled by his moans and his body arching under a tearing, invisible pain. She tightened her hold around him, feeling his body radiating heat again. Her heart pounded in her chest as he let escape a tearing sob and tried hopelessly to bury his head in the pillow. He brought his knees to his chest to brace himself from whatever force was coming at him in his dream.

"Mac?" she called gently, hoping to have more luck this time, and to free him from his nightmare.

"Lieut' 'nt..." he moaned. "Taylor...mat...matricule number...ah...508...ah...334...ow...OJ," he blurted out in agony. "All you...get from me." A new, painful moan escaped his lips before he stiffened in her arms.

_Torture._ The word exploded in her mind at the dark realization of what his nightmare was about. _But when? _She wondered in fear. _Lieutenant?_ It had to be when he was in the Marines. Slowly, she lowered her head, and her lips brushed his ear. She could feel his beating heart hammering in his chest in rhythm of his laborious breath "You're in New York, Mac," she whispered softly. Her hand gently stroked his side. Cold sweat greeted her fingers as she softly caressed his skin. He shivered lightly under her touch. "You're home and safe." She continued and finally was graced by his beating heart slowing down a little.

"...safe...?" he mumbled, between rasping breath.

"Yes, Mac. You're with me, Stella? You remember."

She waited anxiously, and then his tense body relaxed again, his breathing easing. Her hand delicately caressed his sweating chest, and her warm breath brushed his clammy neck. She shifted to get as close as she could to his shivering body, and felt with relieve as his back pressed against her, in need of her reassuring warmth.

"Stell," he muffled as his legs stretched a bit, releasing his curled up position. His cold feet met hers and she froze suddenly. The act was just too familiar not to provoke anything from her core.

She tightened her hold around him, pressing his body against her, and took a deep breath. "It was a nightmare, Mac. Just a nightmare."

"...felt... so real," his hurt voice let out.

Burning tears welled down her cheeks as she nestled her forehead in the crook of his shoulder. "Just a nightmare, Mac. Wasn't real," she lied._ Oh God._ What pain had he endured there to have it resurfaced so painfully now? She tightened her hold around him, she couldn't let him go now, not with what she had just learned. Her friend was in much more need of comfort than she had thought. Buried inside his soul was more pain than the loss of his wife. Somewhere in his life he had been tortured and he was still wearing the stigmas from it. _Damn it!_ Why he had never told her? Why did he have to keep everything inside? He couldn't keep it inside and think he would keep it buried forever! She shivered herself as he shifted in her arms, turning to face her. She couldn't see if his eyes were open or not as the city lights were coming from behind him. But she knew his face was inches from her as she felt his warm breath caressing her cheek.

"...thought I was alone again..." his tired lips let escape, before his head sunk back against her shoulder. He shivered at the painful thought before his mind drifted back to a world of darkness.

Her arms softly snaked around his bare chest and she felt chills run down her spine. But this time it wasn't due to pain. No. It was her skin feeling sparkles on the tip of her fingers every time they came in contact with his sweaty skin. She closed her eyes and rolled on her back, pulling him with her. He offered no resistance and soon his upper body lay limply over her.

"You're never alone, Mac," she whispered. Gently, her left hand nestled around his neck, her fingers playing with the small, wet hair covering his nape. "I'm here, now," she whispered into his ear. "I'm here now."

Then, his body became still in her arms. She could feel his racing heart echoing through his chest. Slowly, her hand pressed over his back and she bit her lips, feeling a new surge of warmth invading her core as he was pressed against her. _Oh God,_ she muttered, trying to remember that Mac needed her, cool and able to think, not getting on edge and delighting of him being in her arms, though it was the perfect truth. She had craved for years to feel his warm and strong body pressed against her. And now that it was happening, he needed her mind focused, he needed her comfort. She sighed inwardly, praying for his pain to go away, and she tightened her hold. His arms around her tightened too, and again her heart skipped in her chest. But beneath her fingers his skin was pulsing madly as if he was afraid of falling asleep again.

"You can sleep, I'm right here."

"Not tired," he muffled, his face sinking deeper into the crook of her shoulder, in search of the soft, reassuring contact of her body. "I'm good," he added. He blinked, trying to shave off the sleep pulling him into the hungry darkness. He didn't want to sleep anymore. He just wanted to lie there, in the arms of this woman who really seemed to be more than his partner. As long as he would stay like that and he wouldn't sleep, then he would be all right. He opened his eyes and stared at the small mirror reflecting the gleaming light of the street through the curtain. He didn't want to go back there. With a short breath, he glared at the night, praying for the day to arrive soon.

Then, as the numbness left him, he felt her soft hands gently caressing his back, sending shivers down his spine, but those weren't from fear this time. His heart rate slowed down, lulled by her soft strokes. And since they had come back after the explosion, he was finally able to focus his mind on where he was. That was then that he realized that he hadn't dreamed of Stella. She was really holding him, reassuring him and comforting him in bed; she was real. He wondered what had happened from the moment they had come back from the explosion to now. Honestly, things were all melted in a blur in his mind. He could remember something about water and maybe her talking about getting him in a bath, and then drowning, and... His stomach heaved in pain as the vivid, painful memory came back with full force. He closed his eyes while painful tremors traveled through his weary body. He muffled a groan and buried his face in her shoulder again as the memory was back, and with it the awful, wrenching pain coursing through his body.

He remembered now, the day they had broken his leg to make a point, hindering any escape from him. His arms covered Stella's as he sank further into her warm embrace, trying desperately to escape his painful past gnawing at his soul. They were four to hold him that day; four to pin him down to the battered, spoiled soil; four plus one. He could still see the face of the fifth soldier, probably their boss, his dark smile plastered on his face. Mac took a long breath, his mind sickeningly giving him each detail of his torture. He shut firmly his eyes, but the images remained. Right after his back had hit the ground the blows had come, raining to his chest and face at first and then to his legs. He clenched his jaw, feeling the pain hitting him again as if he was back there.

They had used an iron bar, whacking it to his leg left until the bone broke in a sick sound like a piece of dried wood. He tightened his hold around Stella, as beads of sweat ran down his hair and to his neck. He hissed a painful breathing and shivered. After his leg had been broken, he had thought they would leave him alone to deal with his pain, but then it had only been the beginning of his silent agony. They had tied his hands behind his back. Turned on his back, his body crushing his hands, he had been helpless as they had twisted his leg to see how long he could scream before passing out. It had lasted for hours, until finally his mind, lost in a world of pain had enough and it had shut down on its own. He trembled uncontrollably against Stella, trying to erase those painful moments that cluthed madly at his soul.

She couldn't sleep. Mac was trembling in her arms, and she was sure that if he hadn't been fighting sleep, he would have moaned in pain in his slumber. But his will was back at the helm and he was doing his best to appear strong, though she appreciated that he had let her help him. His warm, irregular breath grazed her neck, and she stroked his back, in hopes it would ease his breathing. He shivered again in her arms and she pulled his trembling body even closer. She felt him react almost immediately, his hands weakly pressing her sides, and his face snuggling deeper under her chin. His damp hair brushed her skin and she too shivered but from the love she had for him instantly soaring inside. He needed her, he needed to feel loved and not alone. Tightening her hold around him, she laid a soft kiss on his cheek, intending to make sure he knew he was loved here and now.

"I'm here, Mac... I'm here." Her lips tight, her eyes shaved slowly the ceiling poorly lighted by the light coming from the street. Tonight they would not rest. She doubted that he would be able to sleep after all this. His stress was getting stronger and she was powerless to help him. But now at least he had accepted her to get closer, and maybe from a closer position she would be able to help him. At least, she was hoping for it.

_**...TBC

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**A/N:** Well, as I said before it's okay to cry. I just hope you're not too sad. This was a tough chapter for Mac and I hope it worked out fine with you guys. I must say it was necessary with this story, and considering Mac's trauma, nightmares and his past had to play a big part in it. Next part will see Mac and Stella's relationship evolve from this point. Again, feel free to let me know what you thought of this.

Have a great weekend.

_Eternal Flame coming up this weekend_


	14. Just when I'd given up dreaming

**Chapter 14:** Just when I'd given up dreaming

**A/N: **well when writing this chapter I had a song in mind so if you type this title 'just when I'd given up dreaming' on the usual 'tube' you should get a nice smacked vid, which goes well with this chapter.

Again thanks a lot to all who continuously review, and all who put this story in fav or even for reading. So here is the next part of DCI...

**Summary:** presumed loss, Mac has been found. But he now has to deal with the aftermath of memory loss and stress. Stella and the team steps up to help, while his nemesis are looking to get to him. Angsty Smacked...team friendship. CHAP 14 UP!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, besides the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

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He shifted against her and she tightened her hold, her lips tight. Lying on the bed, and half propped up on her pillow, Stella gazed silently at Mac nestled in her arms, and strangely too still compared to his rough night. She could only see half of his face as it was buried against her shoulder, but from the small tremors still coursing his body, she knew he was in pain. Her heart heavy, her eyes met the first rays of light piercing through the curtains and shining on the bed. Lazily, her fingers brushed through his damp hairs and she sighed. They were damp from his running fever that hadn't left him all night, and it seemed it wasn't going down. Stella closed her eyes as Mac moved in her arms and let escape a faint groan. _Probably too tired for more. _Her lips tight in worry, her hand gently stroked his naked back. She felt his tensed shoulders stiffening from what she assumed another bad memory resurfacing in his mind. Looking down, she saw he had moved slightly, allowing her to see his face. Her heart squeezed in her chest at the torn, sweaty features bathed by the early sun. A small tear escaped her eye and welled down her cheek as a silent offering to heal his pain.

All night he had restlessly tossed and turned. His muscles had tensed, and he had shifted against her. Even moaned weakly from the mental pain she couldn't heal. Tenderly, she dropped a warm kiss on his burning forehead and was satisfied when he finally relaxed a little in her arms as if he was surrendering to her. The thin opening of his eyes peered toward her as if he could see her through his glassy haze. She sighed. All night she had wondered if he was really seeing her, but had finally assumed it wasn't as only a solitary tear had rolled down his cheeks, and now she knew. He wasn't really looking. Maybe seeing her once in a while but most of the times, his eyes weren't moving, only there to make her remember that he was still here; alive. She let out a small sigh. She had tried to wake him up every time she was thinking he was in a bad dream. But after three tries, he had remained out of her reach, his mind lost in the labyrinth of his pain. And she had been just unable to help him. He let out a small grunt and his face slid softly along her throat and to her chest. His lips let escaped a weak moan of pain followed by a small whimper and then silence enveloped them again. She could see how restless he was and hoped that time would give him a little peace. All night she had prayed for at least a small hour of him free from his pain. But nothing had worked.

She sighed and was finally rewarded as she felt him going limp in her arms. And then, his breathing became regular and steady. _Finally_. He was sleeping. Finally, his mind had given up the fight and had given in to a real sleep. At least it was something, she tried to comfort herself. She was grateful she had warned Danny that they might not show up at the lab today. And seeing the time it had taken Mac to fall asleep, she didn't dare to make a move, afraid of waking him up. She was tired herself, but tried to remain awake as she watched with concern, his face slowly relaxing. She swallowed the knot in her throat and softly stroked his naked back, pressing his body against her to keep him close. Slowly, she hummed a small song she had learned as a kid and the tension in his muscles began to fade too. She let out some of her frustration and relaxed herself as he wasn't moving anymore. She shifted slowly to get in a better position and felt immediately his arms tightening around her as if he was afraid she would leave him.

"I'm here, Mac," she whispered softly to reassure him she wouldn't leave. His tight hold relaxed a bit. "I'm not leaving you, Mac. Never."

Her cheek brushed gently against his spiky hairs as she dropped a warm kiss on his damp temple. His rising chest lowered its quick pace and his face pressed deeper into the crook of her shoulder.

"Stell," he murmured, his voice wobbling and his eyes still closed.

She swallowed her pain at seeing him so weak and her arms tightened instinctively around him. "Shhhh," she soothed as she continued her humming and slowly brushed his damp nape. She could hear his beating heart echoing against her and after sometime, it beat slowly in rhythm with hers. She smiled and closed her eyes. Her arms wrapped around his weak frame, she let herself fall into a deserved sleep too.

_**xxx**_

The sun was high in the sky. And for once for the past week, its warm rays were shining all over the city. Danny gazed at the yellow streaks going down, knowing that this small sun wasn't going to last.

"Hey," called Flack from behind.

Danny turned and nodded to his friend as he joined him in Mac's office.

Flack looked around as his friend went to sit on the couch; a pile of files before him. "What's that?" he said pointing at the files.

Danny looked at Don with concerns. "Old cases Mac had worked on."

Flack raised his brows. The pile was impressive at least thirty files were on the small table. "All of them are people that could have wanted Mac dead?" He asked bewildered.

Danny shook his head and frowned. "Actually, it's only a part. The others are in my office, but Stella said I should use Mac's office to be able to replace them." He sighed. "There's a lot of paper to sign every day, so it's why I'm here. The staff finds me easily here. I had no idea Mac had that amount of work added to cases. It's just amazing all the things he was doing."

"Well, he wasn't going home a lot too," quipped Don with a small sigh.

Danny looked down almost defeated. "Yeah, but now he doesn't even remember where home is," he added bitterly.

Flack tightened his lips and glanced at Mac's desk. "Why didn't you sit behind his desk?"

Danny sighed and his eyes connected with Flack, worry lingering in his crystal, blue eyes.

"You know Mac is coming back Danny boy," said Flack, trying to reassure his friend. "Things are going to be fine."

Danny stood up and hobbled to the window. He stared at the sun piercing over the shining towers in an unconscious mimic of his boss. He sighed and stuffed his free hand in his pocket, the other leaning heavily on the handle of his cane. "Something's off Don," he dropped, his back to his friend. "Mac... Mac..." His head sagged before him.

"I Know, Danny. But he will come around as he always does," Don finished.

Danny turned to his friend with a worried pout. "I got Stella last night and her voice was... She was worried, Don." He tightened his lips. "I've never seen Stella so worried, Don. No, Mac isn't fine. He's far from it. Yesterday, he called me by my last name and..."

Flack sighed. He couldn't tell his friend about Mac's condition, but surely he wasn't going to let him depress too. He knew Mac, and whatever were the odds, his friend would make it. He knew that. Mac was a fighter, no matter how long the road would be, he would make it to the finish; it was Mac. "C'mon Danny, look at you," provoked Flack, his hand pointing at Danny.

Danny looked up, not understanding his friend right away.

"What were the odds the doc gave you for your legs? Huh? 30 percent, 10 percent, and now look at you. You're walking again, right?" pushed Don with a small smile.

With a deep sigh, Danny nodded. "You're right," he let out with a weak smile.

"Of course I'm right. Mac has like nine lives. But he needs us to help this time." Don gave a broad smile to his friend. "So what did you find?"

The worry in Danny's look disappeared to be replaced by a small light of hope. Don was right, and he couldn't let his feelings get in the way. That's what Mac had always taught him. Taking a deep breath, Danny cleared his mind and focused his thoughts on Mac's case and not on his frind. Stella would look after him, and she was hoping the team would get answers for Mac; so it's what he would try to get.

"So far, the explosives used at Medriano's place are the same used where you and Stella found Mac." Danny shivered as he remembered Mac's face before he was wheeled inside the ambulance, but then he shaved the hurting memory as he looked up at Don. "Lindsay found the same traces on the bathtub we pulled from the wreck. As for the blood we got from there." He tightened his lips. "A lot of the samples belonged to Mac, some to the man now at the morgue."

"The man at the morgue?" Flack seemed to think a moment. "So the man killed by the stab, could be by Mac?"

Danny nodded. "Yeah, and there's evidence that both struggled near the bathtub as Lindsay found saliva from our mystery man on it and Mac's DNA all inside." He sighed. "We think he was cuffed but somehow freed himself or at least one hand." He looked down and sighed deeply. "Mac probably wrestled his kidnappers. At one point, something exploded and the building collapsed, with Mac and that guy inside."

Flack looked stunned at Danny, the hard reality sinking into his brain.

"Yeah, he got a lot of damn luck," continued Danny as he saw the realization dawning in Don's eyes. "I just don't know how he made it without anything broken besides a few ribs."

Don tightened his fists. "We'll find those thugs, Danny," he stated, anger simmering behind his words, and his eyes sending flames against who had dared to try to take out one of their own.

"I know. But with Medriano out, we can count that they were at least two against Mac." He sighed. "And one of them, he's still out there, and probably waiting for Mac to drop his guard. The hell, there can be even more of them, Don! How do we find them, Don? How do we protect our own, how do we help Mac?" Danny's voice rose ashis hand went tiredly to brush his hair.

Don sighed, unable to find a satisfying answer for his friend. "We'll find a way Danny. We'll find something." He looked at Danny, and prayed inwardly that they would quickly find a clue to help Mac.

_**xxx**_

Mac was in the dark again. Shivering, he wrapped his arms around him but nothing worked, he was still cold. Abandoning the idea of getting warm, he walked through the darkness as angry voices pierced around him. They were mixed and blurred and reminded him of a bug's nest, but why so much anger and hatred? His heart accelerated and he turned to see if he could see something, anything but that darkness. But there was nothing around him. A freezing wind grazed his skin and this time he felt too cold to move further, as if his legs were frozen, so he stopped his walk. He cuddled on himself, his legs brought to him, but nothing worked. The cold darkness was still sneaking under his skin, making him shiver even more. He was getting desperate to get warm when something changed around him. The darkness slowly faded and he felt arms, warm arms around him. What was that?

Then, his vision adjusted and light slowly pierced through the gloomy veil that surrounded him. The warmth grew stronger and soon he was wrapped in a cocoon of soft heat. He relaxed and the thick haze covering his eyes faded too. Before him, two bright emeralds were gleaming towards him like two shining beacons. He was free, he realized as he could now move and feel everything around him. And especially the soft, warm body pressed against him.

"Mac?" the emerald eyes talked. "How you feelin'?"

Stella watched with concerns as Mac slowly woke up. It was late in the day and she hadn't really moved from her place nestled against him. First, afraid it would wake him up, and two, wanting more than anything to feel him alive beside her and not going back into another of his all too vivid nightmares.

She smiled as his eyes opened slowly from his restless night. Two thin lines appeared first on his face as he was trying hard to come around. Her arms had tightened around him to let him know that he was on safe ground, and shehad the impression that his sight was clearer now.

"Mac?" she called again, beginning to worry as he hadn't acknowledged her.

His eyes opened a bit more and now she could see the green of his ocean eyes mixed with the crystal blue peering anxiously towards her. His sight was weak, but still, it was the best news since last night. She saw a small light sparkled behind his look as he was fighting whatever had sunk him down all night. He was surfacing, and she hoped they would be able to talk about it; this way, next time she would really be able to help him and not just watch him sunk powerless.

He swallowed hard as his throat was dry. "Stell?" he murmured, his voice hoarse, and barely a whisper. He closed his eyes as if the effort had cost him too much.

"Yes," he heard the voice say. "How you feelin', Mac?" continued Stella.

" 'Kay," he whispered. He felt her fingers grazing at his nape and slowly realized where he was; his position and condition. The heat was coming from Stella's body where he was nestled against and her arms around him were carefully keeping him warm and protected. He blinked trying to shave the last remnant of sleep.

"Where...?" He began. "Where am I?"

"You're in my apartment Mac. You remember?"

He frowned and his head left her warm shoulder as he took a glance around him. Tired, his head slowly dropped back against her chest with a small sigh. "Not really. What happened?"

"You fell asleep in the bath and..."

"Bath? What was I doing in...?" His brows quirked in a questioning look.

"You don't remember it?" she asked with concerns.

"I remember heading toward a building, and..." He sighed, a small headache piercing behing his forehead. "It's a bit confusing. I think I was in a cave..." his voice trailed off as he felt her chest move against him. "What am I doing in your apartment, Stell?"

She frowned, afraid he had lost more time. "You..." she swallowed lightly. "You spent the last two days here, Mac, don't you remember?"

His heart raced in his chest, and he tried to move but his whole body was hurting. "Why are we... I mean did we?" he said as he managed to rise on his elbows to look at her. A faint blush appeared on his cheeks as he realized that maybe he had forgotten more than just a day. Had he spent the night with her? Did they...? No he would remember if they had... He couldn't finish his thoughts as he stared at her in total loss of words.

She smiled lightly. "Nothing happened if that was your question, Mac. But yesterday you had... you had a real bad time, and..." She sighed. "You wanted that I... I mean you..." she locked her eyes with his as she shifted to see his face.

He frowned and bit his lower lip, somehow disappointed. "So we didn't...?"

"No," she confirmed. She offered him a small pout of remorse. "You had a hard time this night, and I just remained to help you sleep, which didn't really happen."

"You stayed all night?" He couldn't believe what she was saying. They had spent the night together and he had no memory of it? He blushed slightly, and relaxed slowly against her, his head softly falling back on her shoulder. "But why am I...?"

"Oh that," she said pointing at his bare chest with a small grin. "You were drenched from sweat and my apartment isn't very warm at night, so I had to undress you."

His cheeks reddened even more. If Stella had taken care of him, it meant he had been in a real bad shape. But why couldn't he remember? Slowly, he pulled away, and sat back on his feet. The sheet covering his back slowly glided from him, and he stared at Stella for a minute. "Thanks," he said, giving her a faint imitation of his charming smile.

She smiled back even though she could see his weariness weighing on his slumped shoulders. "You're welcome partner."

He smiled back at the 'partner' word she had given him, and glanced toward the window. The sun was half way in the sky, although thick clouds were back to hide it.

"What day is it?"

She frowned. "Mac, it's Friday. You sure you alright?"

"I just have a hard time remembering the things that happened. I think I remember a lunch with you, and we were at work." He frowned, his hand tiredly rubbing his forehead. "But the rest is kinda a blur..."

A faint smile grazed her lips. This lunch happened two days before he disappeared in the ruins, though he could remember any of their numerous lunches. "It's great if you remember that. What else?" She couldn't contain her joy. It meant Mac was coming around, finally. A small smile played over her lips.

"Not much. I saw us in the Lab. I think it was in my office but beyond that point things are really messy." He sighed and looked at her his lips tight. "Sorry."

Her lips tight, she mustered all her strength. "It's something, Mac. At least you remember now."

He nodded, hoping she was right.

"You know I was thinking that we should go see Dr Shen today," she said as she sat and realized Mac had tensed at her words. "Just for a small check up. And you did reopen your stitches." She pointed at his chest and the white dressing smeared with crimson spots.

For a minute he looked at her. In the back of his mind something didn't want to trust her. But the image of her eyes, being the first thing he had woken up to, and her warmth, the only thing that had helped him shave away the darkness surrounding him, were the reminder of how much he had needed her last night. Even if he wasn't remembering it, her body pressed against his and her way to take care of him had made a difference, he knew it. He swallowed slowly. And he had to admit it felt good to be with her. Even if waking up in her arms had been awkward at first, it had felt right, as if he belonged there. _Weird, right? _He sighed inwardly. She had been right about his work and his identity so why not trust her more? After all he wanted to. He wanted to be with her. His shoulders sagged lightly.

Stella stared at Mac, wondering if he was going to accept her advice this time. Things had been pretty tensed between them, but one thing had been sure from this night: he needed her and had even called her by her name several times. This meant that their bond was still alive. And deep down, she couldn't help but feel her old partner trying to find his way back; fighting all he could to get back, and she admired him for that. Only he, could go that deep and come back almost untouched, well she hoped he wouldn't bear any stigmas after that. She sighed inwardly, but they were still far from the point where he would be really fine.

"Okay," he muttered slightly. "Okay, we'll go."

Yes, he was coming back. Her eyes gleamed in hope at his answer. She smiled warmly and looked at his disheveled appearance. His chest was still glistening from the sweat his fever had constantly wet him, and the dark bags under his eyes were the clear signs that she was right; he hadn't slept at all. "You want to take a quick shower while I prepare us something to eat?" She pushed gently.

He swallowed and looked down at his appearance. His stitches were hurting like hell, and he was shivering from the cold sweat still damping his body. He didn't want a shower as it meant more pain and draining his strength quickly. But seeing her look, disheveled, she might need him to give her a break, some time off his pissed off state where he had pushed her lately. Hell, she had probably spent all night by his side to watch over him. He frowned, not sure it was the best way for him to appear strong with her. But what was done was done. He sighed and slid down from the bed, his face grazed by a small wince. His eyes locked with hers for a moment. "Okay." Was all he could say right now.

She smiled, happy that he was in such a good mood today, even if he wasn't talking too much. With a warm look she exited the room and left him alone.

He sighed deeply and followed after her, heading toward the bathroom. After closing the door behind him, he glanced at the mirror. His disheveled face appeared to look back at him. The left side of his face was still dark from his old bruises and he looked down, concerned by the weak frame he was appearing; his growing stubblenot helping to light his face. The night had been a hell round of images of things that right now he couldn't really put together. As much as he tried, he was always coming up with pain, and angry dirty faces smiling wickedly at him just before more pain would hit him. But that was all. The rest was a blur, and somehow he was glad for it. He didn't want to remember that. It was hurting too much. Tired and already drained, he undressed with small winces and stepped inside the shower, giving a dark look at the bathtub. He knew something had happened here last night, but that too was a blur in his mind. Though the red spots here and there were signs that someone had bled. Probably him, he deduced bitterly, and seeing the utter look of pain in Stella's eyes, it probably hadn't been a happy moment. He swallowed and turned on the water.

Slowly, the warm liquid slid along his body and he began to relax. His stitches hurt at the contact of the water, but the heat was good. He smiled weakly, Stella had been right again, he needed that shower. Pressing his forearms against the wall, he leaned forward, his forehead on his arms and let the warmth wrap around him as he closed his eyes and delighted in the heat. He swallowed remembering, now, Stella's warm arms and her soothing voice. His felt his tension fading at the memory of her voice, saying she wasn't going to leave him, never. A faint smile grazed his lips. He wanted it to be true, but somehow he could only think that she had said that out of pity again, because he needed her, not because her feelings were strong for him. No they were only partners after all. It wasn't as if they had been together before. He sighed but preferred to ignore those last thoughts. The fact that she had remained with him all night was the only thing he couldn't forget, and in truth, he didn't want to. From his wake up in this dark hole to now, it was the first good memory he would keep with him. Her perfume, her soft skin around him and her warm voice, all of these making him feel good, and almost home. And if he had complied so quickly at her demands, he knew it had to do with her spending the night with him.

Last night, she had made a connection with him that he couldn't deny, and he didn't want it to disappear. He let out a soft sigh of content at the memory of her emeralds gazing at him in concern this morning. He felt protected with her, so cared for that it was really hard to explain with words. Water kept dripping from his hair and to his face. At least he was free from his nightmares and that terrible night now.

_**xxx**_

Stella walked inside the kitchen and began to prepare a pot of coffee. Her lips tight, her thoughts turned toward Mac and the sound of the dripping water was the only thing reassuring her right now. Since last night, she was having a hard time leaving him alone, at least not consciously. Twice he had called her for help, and she couldn't suppress the idea that if she had remained with him after the first time, then things wouldn't have degenerated this way. And today maybe, he would have had a good night sleep and would have been able to remember more. But instead, she hadn't, and now he was drained. She could see it in his weary eyes, even though he had tried to smile this morning. No, he wasn't well at all, and she hoped that Shen would be able to give them some answers. Mac needed them. At least, maybe she would be able to talk to him about PTSD, and that Shen wouldn't make her keep it a secret any longer. She sighed, she just couldn't deny that hiding things from Mac was hurting more than she could admit it. She had done that once, and she could remember clearly how well it had gone when he had learned about what she had done to Diakos. No, she didn't want him to live the same thing again and think that she had lied consciously to him. Their friendship was too important to her.

She sighed and turned toward the main room, grabbing her cell phone to listen her messages. Danny had called and left a message around nine. Quickly, she listened to it. She sighed as she hung up. The news wasn't good, but at least they could link Medriano to Mac's car, and the building where they had found Mac since the explosives were the same than the one that had almost killed them yesterday. She went back to the kitchen and began to prepare a small breakfast for Mac. With his restless night, at least he needed to get some strength back. She set the table and was back grilling some bacon when she heard Mac's warm voice behind her. She jumped lightly as she had been deep in her thoughts.

"Sorry," he said as he realized he had come unnoticed to her, and had scared her.

She turned and smiled at him, her eyes taking notes of the slumping way he was standing, his left hand

carefully clutched at the doorframe. He was wearing his black t-shirt that clad so well to his chest, and she smiled inwardly, feeling some warm feelings heating her core. She had always loved that shirt and somehow the fact he was wearing it was like a message of hope telling her that the old Mac Taylor was coming back. She took a deep breath, hoping with all her heart that it was the truth.

"Sit, Mac," she encouraged him, her eyes gleaming warmly. "I'll be right back. You can take your pills while I finish cooking this." She turned to the oven.

Mac nodded and sat quietly at the table, looking down grimly at the small bottle of pills. Tiredly, he grabbed the bottle and took the necessary pills in his hands and stared at Stella's back. He bit his lower lip, and hesitated before he gulped down the glass of water and slid the pills inside his pocket. Stella turned toward him with a warm smile, and filled his plate with so many things that he wondered where on earth he was going to put that. He frowned, as she went back to the stove and he sighed inwardly. With all that she was doing for him, he wasn't so sure it was a good idea to hide things from her. But he knew from her reaction the day before that she was hiding something from him. And he should recognize that his memory was getting better without those pills. Which was still an unanswered question; what was inside besides the painkillers that she wanted him to take if his memory was back without them?

Stella sat across from him with a smile. She was happy to see that this morning, even though the night had been hard on him, he seemed to be complying and following her advice. She looked at him as he took his fork and began to eat a piece of the eggs she had filled his plate with. Of course, she wasn't expecting him to eat it all. Mac had never eaten that much. But yet, seeing him doing normal things was bringing more joy that she could have ever imagined. She tightened her lips and sipped the black liquid from her cup. Now was going to be a tough subject, but she needed to tell him. So she took a long breath and stared at him seriously.

She raked her throat to get his attention, and he looked up. When his green, ocean eyes connected with hers, she finally began to speak. "I talked to Dr Shen on the phone, and he would be ready whenever we go today. But I think we should go early." She sighed, dreading the next subject. "Though it's almost 2pm already. And then, I can have someone from the lab over there to process you."

Mac cringed at her words. Although the word 'process' was familiar to him, a terrible image printed before him. He could only see pieces of it, but it looked like a woman. Her knees brought to her chest, she was sat on a bed and dressed with a hospital gown. She was trying as much as she could not to cry. But he could see her hands trembling and shaking as she was holding some kind of glass. He felt his own hand patting her shoulder as to comfort her, and his heart was torn in small pieces at her torment. He tried to see her face, but it was hidden in a blur. His gut twitched madly inside as if he knew her, as if this scene had triggered a terrible memory. A memory with someone he clearly cared about. But who was it? He took a deep breath and the image disappeared almost immediately. He frowned not sure of what he had seen. But his gut had reacted on it, and it was now churning madly as if someone had stabbed his heart. He felt sick and wondered if it was due to the perspective of being processed himself or the image of that woman, defenseless and needing him.

"Mac, you okay?" asked Stella seeing him losing his color and turning white.

He shook his head, breathing slowly. He swallowed back the memory, not wanting to scare her. "Yea, why process me now?" He asked, jumping quickly on the next question his mind had. If he remembered correctly, processing a witness or anyone, had to be done right after the events.

She bit her lower lip and set the coffee cup on the table. "Well, you weren't really easy to talk to when... everything happened... and well..." her voice trailed off. "I must admit, I was so glad you were okay and alive that we kinda bent the rules to give you some space and privacy so that you could adjust to your new conditions." She bit her lower lip. Usually her old friend wouldn't have wanted them to bend the rules for him. But sometime, she was afraid he was going too hard on himself. So this time, and considering his state, she had preferred to give him a small break. His clothes had quickly been brought to the lab, and whatever particulates he had on him had been washed away by the cold mud she had found him in. So really, it wasn't much that needed to be processed, but Mac himself.

He shook his head, realizing that his new condition was him, biting the head off of everyone when he had woken up. Yes, he hadn't been easy on anyone. "Thanks." He pointed at her full plate. "You're not eating?"

She stared at him, surprised he was taking it so lightly. "Not really hungry this morning."

He smirked. "Seems to be every morning since I'm here," he said bitterly. Somehow he had the feeling she was worried about something else.

She frowned. "I thought you didn't remember?"

"Well, things came back when I was in the shower; I don't know maybe it was the water or well, but I do now," he paused and looked at her with remorse. "You would have liked me to tell you that before maybe." He sighed, hoping he hadn't hurt her this way. "Sorry... I..." He sighed inwardly. Of course he should have told her. What was he thinking? It was obvious that she was worried for him.

"Ah, it's okay, Mac." She offered him a warm smile, happy that finally his memory from the last couple of days was back. "The important thing is that you're coming around and that your medication works too," she finished trying to sound hopeful.

"Sure." He nodded bitterly, feeling the small pills nestled in his pocket. _They do work fine, _his mind added with suspicions.

She stood up and dropped her mug in the sink. "Well, I'm gonna take a quick shower before we go. If you need something you call, okay? I don't think I'll be in it for long but..."

He smiled shyly. "It's okay, take your time. I'll be fine." He pointed at the plate before him. "I'm gonna need sometime to swallow all that." He quirked his brows. "Though I might give up sooner."

She shook her head with a warm smile, and gently patted his shoulder. "It's okay, just eat what you feel comfortable with, I'll clean up when I get back."

He watched as she headed to the bathroom. Alone in the kitchen, he picked at his food and swallowed a bit of eggs. Then, he let the fork rest on the side of the plate. He was full anyway. Silence enveloped him before he heard the sound of the shower dripping. Frowning, he realized it was the first opportunity for him to wander in her apartment. So, he stood up and walked to the main room. He didn't want to spy on her, but maybe things here or there could trigger his memory, and he didn't want her to witness him back in another nightmare, she had helped him enough already. Wincing as he walked, his right hand cuddled his side to protect the reopened wound. Before him, a large view of the towers appeared and a small sun was hidden behind them. It had been some time since he had really seen the sun, the winter sky always cloudy since he had woken up. He frowned with melancholy.

Carefully, he hovered toward the shelves on the right wall and gazed at pictures of Stella. On one of them, a large one, she was standing in a police uniform and smiling, obviously receiving her diploma. A weak smile appeared at the corner of his mouth at the sparkle he could see in her eyes. She seemed happy, and he had to admit, he hadn't seen her acting like that around him. He sighed and since he wasn't remembering anything like it, he wondered if he was the one to make her that sad and if she had ever smiled to him this way. Was he a bad friend? The kind she had to be there to always pick up the pieces? One that would never make her smile? A complete opposite to what his heart was feeling when he was with her. But he had to recognize that it was true, he had only seen her sad with him. He shook his head with bitterness. And last night she had only helped him to get through a tough time, nothing had happened as she had quickly mentioned, probably wanting to add that nothing would never happen. _Friendship,_ she had said about their relationship, nothing more. His shoulders sagged heavily and he tightened his lips, feeling suddenly very much alone.

Pushing away the sad feeling, he continued to his left. It was a picture of a man with a grey beard. From his memory, a name popped suddenly as he was some kind of professor with a weird name. _Poppa... something_. He shook his head. She was related to him but the guy wasn't her father. No, it was close, though. He frowned, not sure why, but that memory was sending small shivers along his spine. Then another image came to his mind. It was a woman, she was crying, and one of her hands was covered in blood. Then, the next minute he was holding her, pulling her toward him. He smiled, remembering the warmth but again he couldn't see her face, and he began to feel frustrated. Clearly, it was the same woman that he had seen at the hospital and he seemed to have a special bond with her; always there when she was in trouble. He sighed, wondering who it was? Could it be Stella? He shook his head, wondering why his brain refused to show him the face of that woman.

The bathroom door opened and Stella walked into the main room with a genuine smile. "Still trying to remember?"

"Yes." He bit his lower lip. "I would like to go to my apartment today." He watched as she tensed and bit her lower lip. Her face tried to hide something and his stomach churned. He would have bet it was fear but the shadow behind her emeralds had been so quick that it was hard to really be sure of it.

She sighed. "After seeing Dr Shen, then. I think you should talk to him first."

He tensed even more. "What's going on, Stella?" he asked his voice a bit too harsh that he had intended. And when he realized the tone he had used he tried to soften his voice. "Why are we avoiding my place?"

She sighed, her arms slowly nestling around her frame. "Mac, I think it would be best you talk to Shen first, and then we can see what's the best option for you."

He raised his brows not believing what she had just said. "What do you mean by the best option?" He snapped angrily, his fists clenched at his sides. "You mean I can't decide what's best for me? Since when does that choice belong to you or Shen?" He voiced furious.

She bit her lower lip, seeing his face reddening. "I'm... I didn't mean... Mac I'm sorry I can't talk about this. I'd like to but..."

"You can't?" He bit back. Anger soared through his chest and head, his heart beating madly behind his ears. His knuckles went white at his sides as his fists clenched madly. The world around him started to blur and only the rage was pulsing beneath his heart, and flooding his veins. He breathed heavily, trying to calm down his heart rate. _No,_ his mind screamed. He couldn't lose it like that. _C'mon, Mac...! Let it go...! The hell...!_ He clenched his jaw as he darted a blazing glare toward Stella, fighting with his own mind and anger.

"You know what, forget it!" He finally snapped, his right hand shaving the air before him. He quickly walked back to his room, trying to put some distance between them. He opened and closed his fists, trying to control the rage inside him. "Let's go!" He growled from his room, as he entered to grab his jacket. With a small grunt, he slid it on and went back to the entrance, waiting for her.

"Mac your stitches have reopened." She frowned if he wasn't careful and with the event in the bathroom, she was sure it was already bleeding. "I should put a dressing over them before it hurts you again."

"No," he answered harshly. "I want to be done with that." He avoided her stare. He was angry now and the more he would look at her the more the rage would explode inside him. He clenched his fists his nails biting his flesh as he tried to control the burning rage threatening to submerge him. That anger was so irrational that it scared him. He took a deep breath, not sure he should stay with her right now as he wanted to break something, anything that could take that rage away. But the image of her eyes as he had woken up printed before him and a strong remorse surged in his mind. Why this rage? Why was he so angry at her? Why after all she had done?

Standing before the entrance door, and his back to her, her hand reached out to his shoulder and felt him going stiff. She stopped her move, suddenly afraid that he was really angry at her, and obviously he was.

"Please, Stell," she heard him whisper, his voice wobbling, not really looking at her.

"Mac I..." but his sad voice cut her off.

"I just want to go and be done with it, okay?" He said, his voice low as he was trying to soften his harsh tone.

Her lips tight in remorse, she nodded even though he couldn't see her. She grabbed her coat. She opened the door for them and as he exited, she locked the door behind them. Her gaze followed him as he was heading for the lift, not waiting for her.

Mac swallowed back his rage. Even if he could feel it burning inside his veins, he knew that something had to be wrong with him. No one should be that angry so easily. Something was wrong with him and if he wasn't careful, he was afraid he would hurt her, taking his rage on her. So no, it was time he took back some distance with her. It was better for her sake, and probably for his too. He felt her perfume as it invaded his senses as she stopped beside him, close to him. He shut his eyes, too close too him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered softly.

His fists tightened even more. Okay, she was hiding something from him, and it was related to his apartment, but he didn't want her to apologize as if she was scared of him. It wasn't her fault. And he hoped he would be able to control himself enough to never hurt her. His eyes firmly closed, he took a long breath. Something was wrong with him, and he could feel it. He could bet she hadn't slept all night because of him, and now he was making her feel even more miserable. Just what kind of monster was he to do that to her?

"Not your fault," he whispered, not daring to look at her.

Her eyes widened at Mac's whisper. She glanced toward him, and noticed that his right arm was back cuddling his side. He was probably hurting again. But why was he keeping her so far from him?

"Mac," she said softly as the doors opened before them. "I should look at your wound before we go." She tried again. She was worried for him. It wasn't him to snap like that, or even to try to control himself so much as she realized he was doing right now.

"I'll be fine, thanks." He sighed and stepped inside the lift. Wearily, he leaned back against the back wall, his left arm lazily lay over the railing. He gave her a small pout of remorse as she stepped and faced him, her sparkling eyes peering toward him.

His eyes avoided her. "Sorry, I shouldn't have snapped like that," he whispered in remorse.

She tightened her lips and leaned back beside his right side. Softly, their shoulders brushed at each other, and it reassured her that he wasn't trying to avoid her contact as the day before. Although he was still angry, at least she could stay close of him now. "It's okay, Mac. Things aren't easy for you right now. But I know you will get better."

He glanced at her, his lips tight in remorse. He hoped she was right, because right now, he wasn't feeling as if things were getting better for him. Not really. Gently, she snaked an arm around his and smiled as he didn't pull back. "I'm here to help," she said warmly.

He swallowed the knot in his throat, and let her warmth invading his body once again. Gently, he nodded and sighed deeply. "I know," he muttered tiredly.

The doors opened, and they walked side by side to the car. The winter cold instantly assaulted them, and Stella felt him shiver beside her. Even with his jacket on, she knew that he was in no shape to fight the freezing weather right now. So, as soon as they sat inside the car, she put the heat on and led the car into the traffic.

Mac watched silently as the frozen streets passed before the window, and his anger slowly subsided. And before he knew it, images of a frozen winter spent with people he didn't remember printed before his eyes. Some were smiling, while others were grinning wickedly, and he would see a snow ball coming at him fast. He took a deep breath and the images disappeared.

"Mac? You okay?" Stella asked as she had seen his hands tensed.

He sighed and glanced at her with a soft smile. "Just old things, I guess."

She nodded and took the direction of the hospital. At least his memory was back. He was seeing things, even if sometimes like last night it was close to a nightmare than something he should have really remembered. "We will be there soon," she said trying to reassure him.

He nodded silently and stared back outside, wondering when he would be back to his old self, and when he would be able to talk to her without feeling that awkward. He sighed inwardly, and stole a small glance toward her, especially after that night. He wasn't remembering all of it, but the soft contact of her body pressed against him was enough to make him warm. He had to know what was really going on between them. He had to.

_**xxx**_

Marty punched at the wheel and stared at the frozen street. These cops were getting closer to them. And Taylor was still alive. He clenched his jaw. Sooner or later the detective would remember more and he would be able to identify him, too. He tensed in the frozen car and a small cloud appeared before his mouth as he puffed his anger away.

Knowing Taylor's thoroughness for details, he would probably get a portrait of him in no time. He sighed hoping his boss knew what he was doing, because if the cops were getting too close, he wouldn't wait to take Taylor's life for good this time. He huffed in anger. Well, if only that chick would get far from him long enough to take the shot. Otherwise it was going to be pretty hard.

He shook his head as he stared at the small black and white screen where Messer and Flack had stood hours ago. Hopefully, he had other aces in his sleeve that he would be able to use against Taylor on time. But that didn't mean that things weren't going to heat up quickly if he wasn't checking up on him.

Suddenly, the black SUV left the parking lot, and he quickly took its tail. He narrowed his eyes. Again, it was the chick driving, which meant that Taylor wasn't up for it yet. He took a small breath and realized they were heading to the hospital. He nodded, that could mean the detective wasn't feeling well. _Great! _At least some good news, he hoped. But as the car pulled over into the parking garage of the hospital, he saw, with disgust, Mac and Stella getting out, their arms crossed with each others.

So he had been right. That chick was really close to him. And to see the looks he was giving her, he knew she was Taylor's sore spot. He smiled as an idea formed in his mind. He was fed up of waiting in this car and as soon as the boss would ask him to take Taylor out of the game, the cop would be dead. So thinking of the best way to get rid of him was a good alternative than waiting and doing nothing. He jumped out of the car and quickly followed after them. Maybe he could learn more about Taylor's state this way. And without Tommy to bother him, he was free of his moves.

_**xxx**_

Mac sat on the examining bed and wished Stella had stayed. Although it would have seemed awkward, he was just feeling better when she was around. And that doctor hovering near him was making him uncomfortable.

"I'm gonna need you to take off your jacket and t-shirt, Detective Taylor," said Dr Shen with a warm smile.

Mac stared back with a deep sigh and slowly complied. His jacket was the easy part, but it wasn't the same with his t-shirt, and he winced the moment it pulled on his stitches.

"That hurts?" enquired the doctor.

Mac shook his head tiredly._ Of course it hurts!_ What kind of question was that? "Yes," he answered bitterly as he had finally taken off the black fabric.

Shen nodded. "Please, lay down, Detective."

Mac frowned but did as he was ordered and let his body slump down on the bed. He offered a small wince as his bruised body lay down on the sheets. Then, the doctor brought his giant light over him, and Mac tensed involuntarily. The doc bent over him to appear in his line of sight. Shen was wearing a surgical mask, and the whole scene was almost surreal. Mac swallowed feeling a bit dizzy. Cold fingers covered with gloves probed his sides, and Mac grunted at the firing pain shooting through his abdomen.

"Sorry," mouthed Shen through his mask. The surgeon frowned. "Are you taking your meds?"

Mac took a serious look to hide his lies. "Yea, why?" He asked on a defensivemode.

Shen stared back at Mac. "Well, you shouldn't feel the pain that much. I guess, I'll have to check the dosage."

A nurse entered and before he knew it, she was taking blood samples from his left arm. Mac took a small breath, feeling his anger soaring inside again. She hadn't even asked for it! He didn't like that. His left arm was trapped by a needle and the nurse, and the right was hindered by the pain coming from his side, due to Shen. He was trapped and defenseless, and a suffocating feeling of helplessness grew until he had to close his eyes in hope it would fade away. But the anger turned into rage, and soon he prayed for the nurse to leave before he exploded.

Finally, she put a small bandage where the needle had pierced his flesh and left, taking the samples of his blood away. He glared at her back, unable to contain his anger anymore.

"Are you done?" he spit angrily at the doc still hovering over him. Mac rose on his elbows, rage boiling inside him. He couldn't remain still now. He had to move, but the pressure applied by the doc's hands on his shoulders kept him on the bed. He glared at the doc.

Shen took a step back, and Mac had the disgusting feeling that the doc knew it was time to take a break from him as if he had become very dangerous. Shen nodded lightly.

"Not yet. I just need to get something to heal your wound, and it will be over. Be right back." The doc took off his gloves and tossed them in a medical bin. Mac watched as he left the small room without another word.

Letting a small sigh escaped his lips, Mac leaned back against the small pillow. He was drained; too drained to move anyway. He had only been up for a couple of hours, and he was already tired. That wasn't normal. He surely wasn't like that every day, or he would have never made it to the job he had. He sighed deeply, and stared angrily at his body betraying him. Part of his chest was still covered with a blue sheet used by the doc to sew his wound, and somehow he hadn't felt a thing after the probing, which was odd. Shen had probably used a local painkiller, but he had no memory of it, though he was too busy being angry after the nurse. He sighed, drained, and the bright light shining over him wasn't helping. He closed his eyes, trying to avoid the burning light for a second, and hoping it would give a rest at the throbbing headache pulsing beneath his temples. His head leaned back heavily against the pillow, and he had the curious impression he was sinking again or just floating. Where was Stella now? His mind wondered as he felt very alone in this room. Somehow he had to admit he missed her. His lips let escape a small sigh of weariness. Slowly, the world around him faded in a soft sound, and he never heard the doctor coming back as he was finally sound asleep.

_**...TBC

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**A/N: **Well, this chapter is the first as Mac he's now trying to fight his way back with Stella. So I hope it worked out well, and that you all liked it. As always feel free to let me know what you thought of it, it helps me to adjust the story as well, and have a great week.


	15. This unbreakable thread

**Chapter 15:** This unbreakable thread

**A/N: **Okay, I'm back to my place, sadly vacations are over. Sniff,... lol, but here I managed to get this new chapter so I hope you'll all like it.

Again thanks a lot for your great reviews, the fav or even for reading. ENJOY!

**Summary:** presumed loss, Mac has been found. But he now has to deal with the aftermath of memory loss and stress. Stella and the team steps up to help, while his nemesis are looking to get to him. Angsty Smacked...team friendship. CHAP 15 UP!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, besides the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

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Stella watched with worry as Shen exited Mac's examining room for the second time and stepped toward her. She instantly stood up and her worried eyes met Dr Shen.

"How is he?" she asked eagerly.

"He's sleeping right now. I guess he was too drained to win the fight." Shen gave her a reassuring smile. "I gave him something for the pain, just in case, so he should be okay today."

Her eyes widened. "What do you mean _today_?"

The doctor tightened his lips and took a stern look. "Well, seeing his state and how he was hurting when I examined him, I think his medication wasn't really working."

The words registered slowly in her mind. _His medication wasn't working? _Did he suffer without telling her?

The doc seemed to read her thoughts, and sighed. "I think the constant pain from his wounds had probably added to his irritability and tiredness." He showed Stella his office, and with a small nod she followed him to have more privacy than the hospital corridor.

As they stepped inside, and the door was closed, Stella felt her stomach tightened. Somehow, she had the bad feeling that he hadn't told her the bad news yet, or they would have stayed outside.

"I'm going to give you another prescription," continued Shen as he circled his desk. "And hopefully this time it will work better, though I'll wait for his blood results to come back first."

She frowned. "Why?"

He shook his head and sat in the large, leather chair. "I just want to check how they worked with him, nothing to worry about," he said softly as to dismiss her fears.

She sighed. "I have to tell him," she stated bluntly. The doctor raised a pair of concerned eyes to her, wondering if he had understood her correctly. "The fact that he's suffering from this stress disorder," she continued, her face deadly serious. "I have to tell him." She stared at the doc. "Things are getting very complicated for... us... to avoid subjects from his past and..." She sighed heavily. "... and he needs to know. He's my friend and I can't stand to see him struggling this way and doing nothjing to help!"

Dr Shen sighed, and shifted in his chair. "You are already helping him." He gave her a small pout. "I'm sorry Detective Bonasera, but as I told you before, he must recover his memory by himself, and with this stress added, if you were to tell him everything it would only add more to his confusion."

She smirked, her voice rising at the ironic situation and her eyes looked at the ceiling as if she was calling divinities to come to her help. "He's already confused!" She snapped a bit too harshly. Slowly she took a long breath, her shoulders sagging lightly. Her eyes wandered to her tight hands on her laps. "It took him sometime to acknowledge his real name, and realized that he's among the good guys." She stated, her voice breaking the silence as she stood up and began to pace the room. "And I'm not sure he's really convinced about all the work that he did for this city, or for others." She paused and looked at Shen, biting her lower lip. "And now he's having nightmares! Probably from his past, and I can't help him!" Her eyes misted slowly, and she bit her lower lip, trying to hold back tears. She knew she should keep herself together, and not break in front of Dr Shen, but it broke her heart to imagine Mac so lost and vulnerable. "I don't want to see him suffer more when I could do something to help," she finally dropped, her right hand running desperately through her golden curls. She sat and her shoulders sagged tiredly. She too was running out of energy. And she had no idea how long she would be able to cope with this before breaking. And what then? Who would be there for Mac if she was giving up too? Clenching her jaw, she looked up to meet Shen's concerned gaze on her. No, she couldn't break. Not now! Never.

"And what do you want to do?" proposed Shen with a soothing voice. "Do you think revealing sad moments would help him heal?" He pushed softly.

She swallowed the hard lump hindering her voice and raised her brows with concerns. "He's hurt! And he needs to know all the good things that he has done." She stood up and nervously paced his office again. "You...!" She said, her tone a bit accusing. "You can't understand the hole that he created between his old self and him right now! He thinks he's weak! He doesn't trust anyone! And he thinks he didn't deserve his place, or what he is. And I'm sure he got somehow the impression he let us down, that he should be someone else... someone stronger. He..." She struggled with the words as her eyes misted from the salty tears trying to find their way down her cheeks. "He can't see how strong he is already, and I don't know how I can help him see that!" She finally let out, desperate.

The doctor rubbed his small white beard. "What you are talking detective, are symptoms very common for PTSD patients. His nightmares, his irritability, changes of behavior proved it." He sighed. "But the good news is that if he's dreaming about his past, then his memory is back. So now it's only his PTSD that is in his way to be fine again."

She stopped pacing and looked at Shen bewildered. "You think PTSD, that stress hindered his memory?" She couldn't believe what he had just said. So Mac was remembering, but not the way he should? She frowned and looked at Shen.

He sighed. "It's what I tried to tell you before. You said that he remembers things, right?"

"Yes." Her eyes widened and her heart beat madly in her chest.

"Does he remember emotions or only facts?" enquired the doctor.

She thought a moment, remembering about Danny and Adam meeting Mac yesterday. _Messer, Ross..._ he had used. Suddenly, she could see a pattern forming before her eyes. "I think only facts, why?" She frowned.

Shen shook his head and pointed at the chair before her to sit. "It's very common for people sustaining a trauma and suffering from stress disorder to shell their feelings away. It's a way to protect themselves from further trauma. They appeared then, cold and angry, as, in fact, boiling bottled up emotions are trying to surface inside. But it's like a volcano, it only explodes after something had triggered it, and until then, they can feel that rage and anger growing without real explanation." He sighed. "I wished I could give you clues on how he's going to react, but PTSD is particular to anyone. There's nothing specific despite the symptoms about it. One day everything is fine, and the next all is dark, and for the family or friends aroundit's hard to understand; and it's worse for the patients who feel unable to control their behavior." He pouted. "And that could remain for a long time. As long as he hasn't healed and dealt with what has caused the trauma, it's gonna be what he will do."

She felt her eyes misted again, thinking about Mac continuously struggling a solitary fight in his mind. So that's why he hadn't remembered a lot of things with her, only the working parts. She took a deep breath. "You mean his mind is blocking away his feelings, his heart?"

Shen nodded. "I'm afraid so. That's why he might appear a bit cold, and his excessive rage is coming from the same way. Something provoked his trauma, and as long as he hasn't dealt with it, then, it's gonna stay bottled up inside and will explode at the first provocation." He sighed. "Anything can trigger it, from a look, to a word or a touch, even a situation. That's why you can't tell him everything about his past. You could start on a happy memory and his mind would quickly drift back to an awful nightmare, hindering his recovery."

Stella stared at Shen in horror, and the doctor continued his warnings.

"No, we have to keep an eye on him and find the trauma that triggered it. Then, we will be able to take it, one step at a time and talk about it with him. Until then, he needs to stay calm, and I don't think revealing to him that he's suffering from PTSD will help. From the portrait you drew of him, I'm sure he would run toward things that could trigger more of these traumatic events to get his memory back sooner. Am I right?"

She frowned. It was true that Mac wouldn't accept defeat or the fact that stress or a bad event was hindering his progress. He would deny suffering from PTSD as well as he denies almost everything when he's not fine. Then, he would rush toward danger to provoke his memory, as always and things would get worse. Her lips tight, she nodded, thinking back at Shen's words._ Situation,_ the word echoed in her mind as she frowned.

"He remained frozen yesterday after the explosion, was that due to...?" her words died in her throat as Shen nodded lightly.

"It could explain his nightmares then. What happened afterwards?"

She frowned. "Well, he just froze. A minute he was covering me to protect me and the next he was staring frozen at the corridor."

"What was he staring at?" asked Shen, intrigued.

"The door from where the explosion came, and one of our friends," replied quickly Stella, wondering where Shen was going.

Dr Shen pouted. "Did anything ever happen to that friend and Detective Taylor?"

Her eyes lighted in understanding, and she let out a small sigh. "Well, they've been both in an explosion few years back." She paused, comprehension sinking into her mind. "You think he relived it?" She slightly shook her head. Now that she was thinking about it, Mac's stare had remained stuck on Don. And when her friend had walked beside them, supported by a cop, Mac had given him a real odd look. One she was still pondering what he was trying to see or check with Don.

"I think it's probable." He stood up. "Well, I'm gonna check on your partner, and as soon as he awakes, I will talk to him and try to explain why you can't tell him everything. Would it be okay with you?"

She sighed relieved. "Thanks, it would help." At least this way she would have someone else to back her up, and Mac wouldn't believe she was just doing this to hinder his progress. Maybe they would be able to rebuild their trust this way.

_**xxx**_

Martin sneaked up quietly inside the hospital. He was intrigued by what the Detectives could be up to. The day before Taylor had showed up at work and even though he looked tired, he was really determined to get to Tommy. He and the chick had avoided the explosion, and none had seemed hurt at the time. Well, even if Taylor had given his gut out in that little street. So what were they doing here? Had he been really wounded the day before? He smirked, even if it wouldn't be too appreciated by the boss at least it would weaken Taylor, and maybe give him the opportunity to settle a real trap when the boss would ask to take him out of the game.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw the detectives heading toward a small examining room and the chick remained outside. She looked distress and pale. Her shoulders sagged when she slumped heavily on the bench near the examining room. So she was tired too, he deduced. He smiled. _Good. _Both tired they would surely make a mistake, and he wanted to be sure he wouldn't miss any opportunity.

He looked around and took a seat in the visitor area, keeping a close eye on the chick. About ten minutes later the doc exited the room, a tired frown on his face. He talked to the detective then went back inside. Then, the chick pulled her phone and called someone. He frowned as he couldn't hear anything. Martin was running out of patience and he was on edge when finally the doc exited a second time and headed toward the detective. Faking he needed water, Martin walked to the water distributor to get a drink and leaned on the small tank, few feet away from them. He smiled as the both talked loud enough for him to get the gist of their conversation.

From what he heard, Taylor was asleep and his meds didn't work that well. He smiled inwardly. This was good news too. If only the pair could step away from his room, he would have the time to check on the guy. Excitation sprang inside him as the small group stepped away, and entered an office far in the corridor.

Glancing quickly around, Martin pushed the door open and entered the small examining room. Carefully, he walked toward the cop who seemed sound asleep and he smiled wickedly. The detective was lying on his back, his bare chest partially covered by a small blue sheet and his right arm was plugged into an IV. His eyes were firmly closed. Martin glared as the cop was defenseless before him. Maybe he wouldn't get any other golden occasions like that, his mind whispered. He clenched his jaw feeling the needle he had prepared few days ago still nestled in the pocket of his jacket. One small injection into the detective's IV and he would be gone. Well, not right away, but as time would pass he would surely die inexplicably as his special cocktail was taking some hours to spread in the body and kill.

He sighed inwardly. He was fed up of that cop and the fact that his colleagues were getting closer wasn't helping him. If only the boss didn't want him alive. _Damn it!_ He stared at Taylor with hatred. The man was his only obstacle to make it in the family. Though his life right now, was his ticket too. Grinding his teeth, he looked closely at the guy, noticing the fresh dressing applied over his right side. _Gun shot wound,_ his mind whispered, _probably done by Carl._ Then his eyes went back to the dark, brownish bruises smearing the left side of the cop's chest. _Broken ribs, that's from me, _he smiled with pride_._ And finally to his face and the dark, purple bruises over his left temple. He smiled. Those were from Tommy as his brother had knocked him down with a hard slam after their fight, giving all he had after Taylor had managed to get rid off from under the three of them. That man had fought like a damned lion, but in the end they had won the battle. He smirked, a smile of victory playing over his lips, knowing that Taylor's life was in his hands right now. A small fever sprang into his mind and body, realizing the power he had and that he could end Taylor's life. Just like that. He took a deep breath. But now wasn't the time, or the boss would make sure he and Tommy would disappear for good if he wasn't following his orders. He cursed.

Finally, Martin nodded angrily as the cop seemed to shift in his sleep and groaned. _He's waking up._ Quickly, he took a step back to the door and exited before he could be discovered. He sighed heavily as he headed for the exit. The cold wind assaulted him as he stepped outside, and shivered, tramping down the heavy, melted snow under his boots. Now, he had a better knowledge of Taylor's condition. He shook his head and climbed up inside his car, waiting for the cops to leave. At least, he knew exactly where were the cop's weaknesses if needed.

_**xxx**_

Stella followed Doctor Shen. Although the doc had said he was going to check on Mac and she wasn't required, she still had that nagging feeling that she shouldn't have left him out of her sight. _You're paranoid, Stella. _The doc turned, entering Mac's room and her sight was caught by a silhouette she had seen before. She frowned, as she stared at the back of the man heading out. The guy was tall, black hair and dressed in casual, blue jeans, wearing a heavy white coat with hood. She bit her lower lip. Where had she seen him? Finally, he exited and her mind went back to Mac. Dr Shen opened the door as he stared back at her.

"He's awake," he said softly.

She nodded with a tight smile and entered the room. Her heart squeezed in her chest as she noticed how Mac was tiredly lying on the examining bed, his face pale and marked deeply by his restless night. Pillows behind his back, he was propped up over them, and his bare chest was now covered with a new white dressing. An IV was plugged into his right arm, and he seemed at ease considering the situation. Though, he gave her a shy smile as he saw her and she felt her old friend surfacing again. The look in his green eyes, that small twinkling flame of fantasy was there, although weak, but it was there, and it was enough to boost her hopes up.

Hiding his winces as he shifted against the pillows, Mac watched with hidden pleasure as Stella smiled back at him. He swallowed the small knot in his throat. Since he had left the hospital with her, three days ago, it was the first time they had been separated like this, otherwise than from his own doing. He noticed how her eyes softly grazed his bare chest, and felt his cheeks warming at her lingering sight. After a minute, she probably realized what she was doing as her eyes set back on his face with a slight, rosy blush that made her even more beautiful, before she quickly looked down at the floor.

"Well, Detective Taylor," started Dr Shen, slightly startling him from his contemplation. "I talked to your partner while you were asleep, and I promised her I would talk to you as well."

Mac looked at the doc as the man sat on a high chair near his bed. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Stella leaning quietly against the wall, her lips tight. He quickly deduced from her behavior, that what was going to be said wasn't good news. And as Shen spoke, he realized he was right.

"Detective, you have been in some traumatic ordeal, and your body as well as your mind still bear the stigmas of it," started Shen with a serious look.

Mac frowned. Where was the doc going? He already knew he wasn't back one hundred percent yet, so what was all that about? He glanced at Stella but her closed face didn't give him any hint, and he felt an irrational anger surging again. He had that nagging feeling that they were both treating him like a child, and the burning feeling was awfully stinging through his mind, poking his heart and gut like a shooting stab. He clenched his fists, trying to control the anger he felt growing, and crawling up to his mind. _Wait for their explanation, Mac. Just wait, _he tried to convince himself, his breathing slow.

Stella frowned as she saw Mac tensed, and could feel that something wasn't right with him. Her lips tight, she realized it was anger that was now feeling his green, ocean eyes. So he wasn't just doing that with her. She sighed inwardly. Somehow she was reassured he wasn't behaving like that only with her, but seeing his fists closing firmly, it meant he wasn't happy about what was going on. She glanced at Shen, and the doc raked his throat, probably having picked up on Mac's tense frame as well.

"What I mean is that, it's normal to feel out and not really in your place, Detective," continued Shen. "Especially with what your mind had been through. You still have a lot to remember and your body has to heal properly." The doc sighed and watched as Mac seemed to relax a bit at his last words. "But there's one thing you should know; your memory won't come back unless you remember it, alone."

Mac clenched his jaw not liking where this talk was going. _Alone? Why?_

Her mouth sealed, Stella glanced at Shen, knowing he was purposefully hiding the truth from her partner. His memory couldn't be stimulated like it would in any case of memory loss because of his PTSD. The risk of triggering an outburst was too high for them to help Mac remember. No, he had to remember it all by himself, minimizing the stress this way. She closed her eyes. But it was so unfair that he had to do this painful recovery alone. Though curing him from his stress was the best option or his memory would leave him crippled, according to Dr Shen.

"Your memory is very fragile, and right now, we can't shake it too fast. It's why I have expressly asked your partner not to help you with it," stated Shen, trying to sound nice, and leaving out the PTSD facts that he thought would provoke more outbursts than good.

Mac squeezed his fists, his fingers tightening over the blue sheet as his knuckles went white. That's what she had said, but the truth was he hadn't believed her. He swallowed back his anger toward Stella, his rage now focused on the doc, who was consciously keeping him from his life. How did that man dare doing that? Finding back his memory alone? That was BS! Was he really thinking he was going to accept that? Okay, he didn't remember his life, but he wasn't stupid, and he clearly remembered something about brain stimulation by talks and hints from friends. He had read it somewhere, and that, he could clearly remember it. So this whole thing about his memory being fragile was a lie._ But why? Why would they lie to me? _He had thought they were trying to help him? Though for Stella he was sure of it._ Damn it! _Since the beginning he had felt that something wasn't right.

"I don't believe you!" replied angrily Mac, his right hand instinctively cuddling his wounded side in protection.

Stella shook her head. Of course, Mac didn't believe Shen. He was trained to know if the person before him was lying or not, and although the good doctor wanted to help Mac, he was lying and couldn't escape Mac's trained perceptions.

"It doesn't matter, Detective," said the doc. "I'm sorry but it's for your own good. You have to know that we are-..."

Mac cut him off harshly. "Keep your lies to yourself, Doc! Are we done?" He snapped, his eyes darting angry flames. Okay, the doc didn't want to tell him the truth, but he wasn't about to nod like a nice little boy while he knew the doc was serving him a bunch of crap.

Dr Shen stood up and stared at Mac. "I'm sorry you're taking it like that, Detective."

Stella's phone went off at the same moment. Her eyes widened and she quickly exited the room to answer it. Mac's eyes followed her as the door closed behind her, leaving him alone with Shen. _Alone..._ The word painfully echoed in his head as his glare went back to Dr Shen, who was putting away some instrumentation. Without asking, Mac unplugged the IV from his arm, leaving a small red dot appearing over his skin, but he didn't care right now. Then, pushing angrily the blue sheet covering his chest, he jumped off the bed, daring the doc to forbid him to do any of this. Surely, Shen understood that it wasn't the right time to contradict Mac as he bit his lower lip, and let Mac grab his shirt without a word.

"Mac?" asked Stella as she came back inside and noticed that he was about to dress up, his back to her. "Danny's here," she said, her eyes lingering quickly on his bruised skin. Her heart squeezed in her chest as he turned a weary sight in her direction.

Taking a deep breath, and remembering what she had said about processing him, and his own promise to go with her demand, Mac unhappily dropped his black t-shirt on the bed and nodded. "Okay," he said with a low voice.

From the threshold, Stella gave him a small nod and closed the door as she went back in the corridor to see Danny. She bit her lower lip, hoping that he was going to be all right with the processing.

Mac sat back on the bed, feeling uneasy about this whole situation. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Shen taking his leave. He sighed and shook his head; he wasn't going to regret the doc. Then, few seconds later, Danny entered the room with a kit in hand and a broad grin creasing his face.

Danny's smile faded instantly as he stared at Mac sat on the bed, his legs dangling from it, and a look of defeat painted over his face. His boss looked awful, his bare upper body slanting tiredly forward and remaining up only with the help of his arms carefully clutching at the bed for support. "Mac," he said with a small nod, not really comfortable being the one to process his boss.

Mac cringed as the young CSI stopped dead in his track as he noticed his battered state. Stella stepped right behind him, and bit her lower lip with a pout; her silent, worried eyes talking more about his current state than her words. Suddenly, Mac felt very alone, and defenseless. His bare chest offering little protection from his friends' worried stares.

"You want me to leave?" Stella asked, her heart beating quickly in her chest, and feeling his uncertainty.

She wanted to remain with him, and help him through this, as she knew how being processed could hurt and give that damned feeling of helplessness. She had been there too, and although Mac hadn't remained with her, hurrying to her apartment to clear her name, ensuring the same way to give her a peaceful mind; he had still been there at the beginning. And she could still remember his warm, strong hand patting her shoulder in comfort, telling her silently that he was there for her, no matter what she was going to face. And that's what he had done. He had been there all along, keeping updates with Flack on the phone, and greeting her as she was leaving the hospital, her name cleared up of any suspicions for killing her ex boyfriend; all because he had carefully watched over her.

He nodded slightly, and his sight wandered to his laps as if focused on an invisible point."You can stay," he said, his soft voice breaking the silence, and a deep contrast with his harsh tone used a minute ago with Shen.

She gave him a warm smile, although he wasn't looking, and leaned back against the wall, preferring to leave him some room, but remaining close enough in case he needed support.

Danny opened his kit and took his camera. His lips tight, he gave a shy smile to Mac. "Mac I'm gonna..." His voice trailed off, not sure what he should say to his boss and friend.

Mac locked his eyes with Danny, a dark shadow lingering behind them. "It's okay, Messer. Just do it," he said, his voice low, trying to remain as much neutral as he could.

Since Shen had disappeared, he had been able to lower his anger, and things were much more bearable now. And he had to admit, he didn't want to add his anger to Stella's shoulders. She had enough with him already, and he could see how nervous about him she was every time she was giving him a small glance, to check that he was okay. Whatever she was hiding from him, she was probably thinking it was for his own good, and honestly, if the situation was reversed, he couldn't swear he wouldn't try to protect her the same way too. Even if he didn't remember everything, one thing was clear since last night. He cared for her, and more than he would be able to admit to her. He sighed tiredly.

Danny tensed at Mac's use of his last name and nodded. Raising his camera, he started to take pictures of Mac's chest and face. The flash lighted Mac's left side and Danny could see how much damage the blows had done to his head, and ribs. But his face was the worse, as the black stitches clearly appeared beneath his hair line. He tightened his lips and circled Mac, with a small hobbling walk.

Danny looked at Mac's back and cringed as it was covered with more purple bruises. "Mac, I'm gonna have to take those dressings off to..."

"I'll do it," intervened Stella as she hastily walked toward them, Mac's gaze following her.

Mac swallowed as she circled him. Her warm fingers grazed softly at his skin, and he shivered as she slowly took the dressing off from his shoulder. He frowned, he hadn't even noticed that Shen had put one back. He had probably been out more than two minutes not to see that. He took a small breath as she stepped back to let Danny take the shot of his wound. The young detective offered a small curse at the view of his wound and he flinched involuntarily. This whole processing thing was starting to get on his nerves, and he didn't want to get more pity from his colleagues about it. His fists clenched tightly at the edge of the bed, and he sighed deeply. But considering Stella had asked him about that, he tried to focus his mind on something else, and bit his lower lip, hoping to be done quickly. He had said he would do it, so now he had to stick to his word. At least this way, he would prove her that she could count on him.

Danny tensed as Stella uncovered Mac's wound, and a set of deep, raw lines carving his flesh appeared before him. His fingers squeezed around the camera, angry after those who had hurt his friend. Taking a small breath, he took the shots, trying to be thorough and quick as the Mac he knew would not appreciate being looked over that much closely. He took other shots of his back, his brows creasing in worry as he noticed the old scars and the purple bruises smearing his sides. He took several shots of the bruises as well, thinking that maybe they would be able to match with any foot or punch print when they would catch Medriano. Biting his lower lip, Danny nodded at Stella as he was done and stepped back.

Stella cringed as she noticed Mac's neck going stiff. She knew that this whole thing wasn't easy on him. Quickly, she set the dressing back in place, and her fingers lingered around his bare neck. "You remember when this happened?" she asked softly.

Mac let out a small sigh, both from her question and the warmth provoked by her warm fingers on his skin. Focusing his mind on her question, he tensed. He hadn't really talked about what had happened in the hole. He bit his lower lip, not sure he wanted to even talk, or think about it. But something inside him, like an old habit kicked in, and he found himself explaining how he had pulled himself from a panel that had crushed him. Then, Stella's hand gently patted his shoulder, and the warm contact of her fingers on him soothed his soaring anger at the memory of that dark hole.

"I'm sorry we didn't arrive sooner." She softly confessed. She circled Mac to face him, and help Danny to take the shot of his gunshot wound.

His upper body slanting heavily forward, Mac raised his sagging head toward her when she approached him. She swallowed; only two feet from him she could feel his warm breath gently tickling her neck. Delicately, her fingers lifted the dressing covering his gunshot wound, and she looked up. Her emeralds crossed his tired green, ocean pools. For a brief second, she saw an immense pain lingering behind them, and then he looked down as if afraid that she could see through his soul, afraid of letting her see how wounded he was inside. Her lips tight, she didn't push further as Danny was there, and she stepped back to let the young CSI take the required shots.

Again, Danny felt as if he was intruding on something special as his friends looked at each other for a moment, before Stella glanced toward him with a small nod. Without a word, he stepped in front of Mac, and pointed his camera to take the pictures of the wound. Black, thick stitches were covering the small red line where the docs had entered to get the bullet out, and once again, his anger soared through his heart. If the bullet had touched any vital organs, if... He stopped his trail of thoughts as the camera flashed a light toward Mac and his boss blinked wearily, raising a tired hand to protect his eyes.

"Sorry, Mac," apologized Danny, stunned that this simple flash could hurt Mac. But then, his friend had been through so much lately, that being light sensitive was another symptom of the wreck state he was in.

Mac nodded lightly. "It's okay. Are we done?" He was tired and right now, he wanted to leave the place as soon as possible before he makes a fool of himself by showing to everyone that he was ready to crumble at the first blow.

Danny glanced at Stella, with a question in his eyes. Since Mac's process was taking a long time after the events, there wasn't much to process as the rest of the evidence had been cleaned since then. She nodded toward him and Danny put the camera back in his kit.

"Mac, when I found you," started Stella. "You were hiding in a hole. Your clothes were wet and muddy, and you were almost..." she couldn't finish, her throat tightening and her eyes met his green, ocean pools. "Why were you hiding? Did you hear us?" She needed to know. She needed to know if she had scared him enough to put his life in more dangers.

He sighed and clenched his jaw, swallowing back the painful memory of the freezing cold seeping through his body. Now that he knew who she was, he guessed he should tell her everything he could remember. "I... I heard voices..." He paused, his brows creased from the memory; the harsh feeling of loneliness and ice rushing back to his mind.

Stella flinched involuntarily. Had she been the one speeding his downfall? _Oh God. _

"They were men. I thought first they were cops, and that I was done." He looked up to see Danny giving a puzzled look at Stella. She hadn't told him about his doubts about himself? He frowned. Now he wondered suddenly what else she hadn't said to his team about his condition? Was she trying to protect him this way? Suddenly, he was discovering a new side of her. A protective and caring side that he must admit he was starting to really fall in love with. His lips tight, he reminded himself that they were just friends and nothing else. He should give up this kind of feelings. He swallowed and locked his eyes with Stella. "I remember that they said that they had to check if the cop was dead, and that if Carl was alive they would finish him. So, I crawled away, thinking that either way they weren't there to help me." He saw fear lingering in Stella's eyes, and he was sorry to be somehow the cause of it.

"They," she repeated slowly, her eyes not able to leave his. "There was more than one...?" her voice trailed off as she realized how close she had been to losing Mac again. If he hadn't had the strength to hide, if... Her heart speeded madly in her chest. _They? _There was someone else with Medriano? And they both wanted her partner dead. They had come to check if their nasty job had been done and that was a sign they wouldn't give up easily. They wanted Mac dead and they wouldn't stop until he was six feet under. Her fists tightened against her sides as she turned toward Danny, a determined look blazing in her emeralds.

"Danny, take these shots and go back to the lab. Keep me informed of anything new."

Danny nodded and quickly left the room, giving a shy smile to his boss. Mac watched as Stella pulled her phone and gave him a small smile. "I'm sorry, Mac. I know you won't like it. But I have to."

He winced as he slipped slowly an arm inside his black t-shirt, and heard her calling Flack. A frown quickly creased his face.

"Don, I'm gonna need a car to stay in place in front of my apartment. Yes,... No, he's fine... Well, you know him." She glanced toward Mac and saw that his face was now slowly turning to a crimson red, a burning anger creeping into his eyes. She hung up, tensing and preparing to face his wrath.

"I don't need to be babysat," he stated, trying to keep his anger at bay as he slipped into his leather jacket and winced again as he pulled on the new stitches.

"Mac, these guys tried to kill you. Three times!" she voiced, unable to take this as a banal case; because it was not, at least not for her. "I know how stubborn you can be about your own protection, but I'm not ready to lose you." She sighed and her tired eyes locked with his. "Please just humor me, okay?" she finally said.

His face softened at her pleading tone, and he stared at her, pain filling her sight. He let out a small sigh of resignation. "Okay, but we're going to my apartment."

She sighed, feeling the heated argument about to explode once again. "I'm sorry, but it's not a good idea. You haven't recovered your memory or healed, and..."

"Damn it, Stella!" he exploded. "Why not?"

His face was flushed and his eyes red in burning anger as he jumped off from the bed. Forgetting that he was still weary, his legs instantly buckled under him. But his reflexes still there, he quickly caught himself at the edge of the bed, and swayed a moment on his legs. Then, with a deep breath, he managed to steady himself.

The moment she had seen him falter, Stella had rushed toward him only being stopped by his daunting glare he had shot toward her. His right palm had risen before her, and stopped her dead in her move. The new foundation they had been carefully rebuilding since last night had just been broken, he was again refusing her help, keeping her away from him. _No,_ her mind pleaded with agony. _It can't be!_

"I'm fine," he blurted out with a grunt as he leaned heavily his left side against the bed.

"Of course you are Mac!" she snapped back, unable to keep at bay her worry and anger at seeing him always keeping her away. "I told you, we will go to your apartment, but not right now! Not until you feel better."

He stared at her, surprised by her outburst. "I'm..."

"Right," she voiced angrily. She clenched her fists and let go her own frustrations. "Don't give me _you're fine_!" She snapped and her arms dropped to her sides in resignation. "I heard enough! I'll be in the car, waiting for you to take you home for a well deserved rest before you pass out on this damned floor!"

On these words, she turned her back, and slammed the door behind her. She was angry. _Damn it!_ She was even furious. He was hurt and drained, why can't he trust her? Okay, this damned PTSD and his memory loss were big obstacles to his trust issues, but right now she was fed up, and tired too. She needed air. She needed him to trust her. _Damn it! _She needed her best friend. And she needed to take him in her arms, not to be pushed away. Walking hastily, she ignored the frown from the patients and nurses that she crossed the way as she exited the hospital, her eyes misting again and threatening to let the world know how much Mac meant to her.

Mac chuckled nervously. He wasn't sure if it was from a nervous stress, or because he was drained. Or maybe it was his nerves, and he was just losing it. He wasn't happy at all that she had left this way, so there was no real reason to laugh at all. He sighed tiredly. But finally, she had told him off without anything to hinder her thoughts or feelings. She had been her, and it was clear now that she was pissed off. She was mad at him. But a woman wasn't that furious, unless she was caring, his mind whispered. _Or she has always hated me, _he added mentally. He swallowed back his guilt, realizing that he hadn't been wrong, she was probably caring for him. She wouldn't have taken care of him if she hated him, not as she did last night. He sighed heavily. But now that he had pushed her away, it wasn't going to be easy to come back without at least apologize to her. His mind flashed images of a conversation he had with her yesterday, and he felt suddenly very selfish.

Last night, she had said that she had nothing to forgive him. That he was her friend, and that she was taking him as he was. His shoulders sagged wearily as he walked toward the door. He was drained. She was right. He nodded slowly for himself before he opened the door. Curious looks stared back at him as soon as he stepped outside. He crossed the corridor and headed toward the exit without a word, his lips tight. Surely, Stella knew how to make her exit. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He couldn't help but admire the way she had talked to him. He was supposed to be her boss, and it wasn't something that seemed to really preoccupy her right now. He smirked, she probably knew him well enough to know that once he would remember who he was, he wouldn't be one to fire her for that. Hell, even now he didn't want to do that just because she was mad at him. No, she had acted like a friend would. Her anger was justified, he was the cause of her stress lately, and he couldn't blame her for snapping once in a while.

His lips tight, he raised his lapel as the cold, icy wind froze his bones, and seeped through his clothes. His hands closed into fists as well, the cold biting angrily into his already hurt fingers. For a moment, he remembered what Shen had told him a few days ago, about being careful about the cold weather, and that hypothermia had left its cold mark upon him. And that with what he had suffered, his fingers would be more at risk from the cold. He opened and closed his hands, and felt his knuckles popped sickeningly from the cold as if his hands were coated by rust. It hurt, but not as much as he had probably hurt Stella. He shook his head and shivered. With a deep sigh he stuffed his cold hands in his pockets and a small cloud formed before his face.

As he bit his lower lip, Mac glanced toward the car with guilt. He could see her inside, waiting behind the wheel. For a minute, he hesitated. He had his wallet, and his address was on it. He could just leave, take a car, or the subway, and go to his apartment. He didn't really need her. And after their showdown, she was probably aspiring at some real time off from him anyway. He hadn't been very nice to her after all she had done for him. Including the night she had spent taking care of him. He sighed heavily, realizing that he was probably losing a real friend. His lips tight, he pondered the idea if she wouldn't be better off without him. He shook his head; maybe he should leave her alone and take care of himself. Yeah, she would be better without him to wake her up in the middle of the night from his freakin' behavior.

Stella watched with anger as Mac finally exited the ER and stood still, not really heading her way. Her heart squeezed in her chest as she noticed how he was leaning carefully on his left leg to keep as much pressure as he could from his wounded side. She realized that his frail frame lunged toward the subway and her eyes misted. She had spoken out of anger, and now he was going to leave. _Mac, please don't, _her mind whispered in plea. Alone and wounded, not remembering who he was and who to trust. Anything could happen then. His nemesis could actually be observing them, and wait for the right time to finish their deadly job. Her hands squeezed around the wheel. "C'mon, Mac. Come back home. I'm sorry," she whispered to herself, tears threatening her eyes as he wasn't moving toward the car.

He sighed, his boots crushing the freezing snow beneath him as he glanced at the subway entrance, and then at the car. He knew she was watching him, probably wondering what the hell he was doing. He bit his lower lip, and cuddled his right side as a dull pain erupted from his abdomen. The pain wasn't as strong as before. It was obvious now that the local painkillers the doc had given him before he sewed him back were still working. He clenched his jaw; but for how long? His arms wrapped around his chest as the icy wind tried to penetrate his jacket and bones again. He closed his eyes, trying to shave away the dark images of the hole surging in his mind, and the freezing cold sneaking under his clothes. Then, he made his decision. Maybe he would regret it, but right now it sounded like the best option for the both of them.

Taking a small breath, he turned toward the car, and slowly walked toward it. He knew he was up for a major, tongue lashing, but he had to give her the benefit of the doubt, and pay whatever price she thought he deserved for pushing her away. Until now, she had only tried to help him, and going AWOL, could hurt her even more, and he didn't want that. He would find a way to get his answers, but not by hurting her, he promised to himself. At least, not today, not after the terrible night he had lived through, and the way she had carefully taken care of him. He had to respect her for that. He sighed and raised a weary look toward the car, his lips tight in quiet remorse.

They had parked a bit far from the entrance to find a spot, and before he knew it, he was limping, his right leg grazing at the frozen snow like a dead log attached to his body. A dead log that hindered his walk more than helping. He frowned, realizing how much last night had taken on him. He was weak and probably defenseless if he was meeting the guys who had tried to kill him. His throbbing head sagged before him, but he didn't want her to see how weak he was. Cuddling his side, he bit back the dull pain increasing in his side and swallowing his pride, he raised his head. His flushed face was instantly battered by the falling icy snow lashing his left cheek. Small tremors coursed through his body, but he continued to walk. He had to.

Her heart skipped in her chest as she thought Mac was going to head to the subway. Her eyes almost wet, she fought back the threatening water, cursing her stupid words for pushing him away when he needed her. What would she do if he was leaving? But then, he turned toward the car and began to slowly walk toward her. A weak smile appeared on her face as she realized that he had made his decision, and she was part of the equation. She sighed in relief, and gazed at him. But then, a frown creased her face, noticing how his walk was turning into a hard limping through the snow, and a weary fight to remain standing on a frozen, slippery ground. Her lips tight, she noted that he was doing his best to appear as normal as he could, but she knew better. She could see that his wounded side hindered him to walk normally, and the recent surgery to sew back his stitches hadn't helped either.

Beads of sweat wetted his forehead and the back of his hair as he strained his body to get back to the car. Then, he heard the engine being turned on and saw the car slowly pulled from its spot. For a second his heart stopped in his chest thinking that Stella was leaving, that she had finally given up on him. A feeling of gloom pressed over his shoulders, knowing that he was going to be alone again. But it quickly disappeared as the car headed toward him. He frowned when the black SUV pulled over right beside him. Swallowing back his anxiety, he peered at the black window that slowly went down. A smiling Stella greeted his sight and he opened the door, knowing what he had to do now.

Mac climbed inside, and Stella glanced at him, not sure it was wise to smile more than once after all that had happened. So as he closed the door and put his seatbelt on, she pulled into traffic, leading them back to her apartment. She heard him shifting in his seat and glanced at him. His face was flushed and sweaty, and she could see that, even if he was tired before, he had managed to reach a new level of exhaustion again. She sighed in concern.

Mac clenched his lips. Comforted by her smile, he had thought they would be able to talk. Well, mostly her, shouting maybe at him, but not that. And hearing the silence lingering between them, he felt suddenly very uneasy. He looked out the passenger window and winced at her sigh. But knowing he was to blame for all of this, he just shut up and closed his eyes; too tired to engage into anything. He would take the heat at her apartment, hoping she wouldn't go too far, and that he would be able to keep his irrational anger at bay for once.

After a tormented, silent ride, both exited the car in a deep silence and headed to her apartment. Exchanging only furtive glances, they found themselves in front of her apartment door as she shuffled with the keys to open. Mac frowned, noticing her hands trembling, and realized that all this had strained her more than she would probably admit. Silently, they entered her apartment, and he braced himself for the forthcoming showdown.

"I'm sorry," he whispered behind her, as the door was shut. "I know you're trying to help, but..." His voice trailed off as Stella had turned toward him.

She stared back at Mac as he was trying to apologize, but all she could see, was that he could have left. She could have lost him, and maybe for good this time, and because she had not been able to control herself. He needed her, and not her self pity taking over her behavior. Her heart beat madly in her chest. She needed him. She needed to feel him against her. And before she knew it, the next second she had wrapped her arms around him, stopping his words.

Stunned by her sudden embrace, Mac froze, not sure of what he should do or say. But as she began to tremble against him, he swallowed back his doubts, and wrapped his arms around her frame. She sank further in his embrace, and both enjoyed the heat coming from their bodies, sharing a moment of peace. As she pressed her body further against him, his head sagged forward and went to rest in the crook of her soft neck. He was so tired. He let out a small breath of exhaustion, and felt her head pressing against his neck as well. Her sweet perfume invaded his senses, and slowly he relaxed when her trembling subsided.

"I'm really sorry, Stell, I..." He began, his heart heavy and his thoughts confused. He was lost, and until now, she had been the only one he could rely on. He needed her.

"Shhhh," she soothed as her hands snaked around his damp neck to keep his face snuggled against her. She had felt with joy as his arms had wrapped around her. And as he had tightened his hold around her, she had found her friend back for a minute. Mac was there to support her, even though his mind was lost in a chaotic world of doubts and confusion. "I... I care about you, Mac." She admitted softly.

Her words sank slowly to his heart, and he felt even more guilty for what he had done earlier. "Sorry, I didn't want to..."

"You're tired, Mac," she cut him off softly. "It's okay. Now that you are here, things are going to be alright." She took a step back, leaving his arms with regrets, but remaining inches from his body. "I'm sorry," she gave him a shy smile. "I guess I needed my friend and..."

He smiled warmly as his fingers dared to gently tuck a small curly strand of hair behind her ear. He took a deep breath. "You know, even if I can't remember it all, I'm still here for you." His lips tight, he looked at her with remorse. "I'm sorry I didn't let you see that before." He sighed, guilt filling his soul and hoping his words didn't seem fake as he had no memory of his past to support them. "You helped me a lot, and..."

Her fingers pressed on his lips to stop his words. "We're friends, Mac. That's what friends are for." She smiled warmly, and saw that his eyes, although tired, were gleaming with an intense fire. "That's what friends do," she repeated softly.

"Thanks." His lips tightened, and he looked at her with worry. "You know that I'm here for you too?" He sighed. "Even, if I'm not myself, my gut tells me that's what I would do."

She nodded lightly. "I know." Tenderly, her hand cupped his right cheek, and she offered him a warm smile. "I know you, Mac, even if you can't right now. I know the good and honorable man you are."

His lips tight in sorrow, his eyes locked with hers, her warm words filling his heart with tenderness and love. He breathed slowly, his body relaxing at her soft words and warm touch. For a long moment, they just stared at each other, lingering in the quiet silence of their breath escaping their mouths. Their eyes unable to leave each other as they had finally found the thread of what had been their bond all these years. _Caring for one another_.

_**...TBC

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**_

**A/N:** Well, hope you liked this chapter. It's a bit different from the others, but since Mac is starting to heal, well he has to slowly be back to normal, so hope it was okay with you. As always feel free to give me your thoughts about it, and have a great weekend

_Eternal Flame_ coming up soon


	16. Shining a light

**Chapter 16:** Shining a light

**A/N: **All right! After all this vacation and moving time, here it's the next chapter. Again a great thank you to all who reveiewed this fic so far, and to those who put it in fav or alert. And to all thanks for reading.

**Summary:** presumed loss, Mac has been found. But he now has to deal with the aftermath of memory loss and stress. Stella and the team steps up to help, while his nemesis are looking to get to him. Angsty Smacked...team friendship. CHAP 16 UP!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, besides the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

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Her hand was gently nestled against his cheek, and he smiled shyly, lingering in her warmth. Without realizing it, his hand pressed over hers, and Stella offered him a warm smile.

"Mac," she began, her voice soft and low.

His eyes smiled to her. "You don't have to worry that much, Stell. And... And I know it's not easy for you to..." His voice trailed off, searching his words. He bit his lower lip. "... to deal with a stubborn guy like me... and..." He took a small breath.

Although he was tired, she could see how much energy he was trying to muster only to reassure her. But the way he was standing, his shoulders slowly slumped forward, leaning heavily on his left side, and the small tremors she could feel running beneath her fingers. All were signs that he was done for the day, and about to crumble at any moment. No, the only thing keeping him up and standing before her, was his will. And she knew how strong his will could be. But it wasn't for his own good after he had been so hurt and had spent the night fighting his terrible past and getting no rest at all.

Tenderly, her thumb stroked his cheek, and she smiled to him. "C'mon," she said as her hand slid the length of his arm and nestled in his cold hand.

The small light of the city piercing through the windows bathed their face of a soft orange gleamer, when Mac looked at her with a puzzled look. She headed to her room and pulled him with her. He blinked, not sure what to do, but as her hand tugged gently at his arm, he followed her. His heart skipped in his chest, echoing with his already beating headache. What was she doing?

He froze at the threshold of the room. "Stell?" his eyes widened, his legs like jelly, and finally making him conscious of the tremendous effort he had taken to remain up until now. He was drained and she probably knew it seeing the worry lingering behind her eyes.

She turned toward him a genuine smile. "You need to rest, Mac. And I didn't sleep either. Danny will call if there's something important we need to know." She glanced at the bed. "And right now, you and I are going to get some rest, so that tomorrow we will be able to kick some asses," she said with a broad grin.

Swallowing his tension, he gazed at her. "What...? I mean, I... I..." He quirked his brows.

Releasing his hand, she kicked off her shoes, and tossed her coat on a chair. With a gentle smile, she stepped back behind him and helped him to take his jacket off. His lips tight, he offered her a small frown as he hesitated.

She tossed his clothes over her coat and smiled. "You'll sleep better without your shoes on."

He nodded, and his left hand taking support on the wall, he kicked off his shoes and watched as Stella stepped to the curtains. Without a word, she closed them and the light from outside was shaded into a dim, gentle light. He mentally thanked her as his headache slowly dimmed. Still smiling, she stepped toward him and gently grabbed his hand.

As Stella noticed the look of uncertainty in Mac's eyes, she stopped again and frowned. "You prefer to sleep in the guest room?" She asked, doubts filling her heart now. She knew that resting wasn't easy when you had nightmares, and she had assumed he would be more comfortable with her, though she couldn't fight the private man in him; wanting to deal with his past alone.

He cringed at the option of being alone with his nightmares. He didn't want to sleep at all. Last time had been... He took a small breath. "I'm not tired," he lied. He could feel his body yelling at him for such a lie. But he didn't want to go back in this dark world, where everything was pain and torment.

Stella watched with pain, as Mac raised a pair of pleading eyes to her, hopelessness filling his gentle gaze. Her heart wrenched in her chest. "C'mon," she mouthed. Gently, she squeezed his hand, and, as he offered no resistance, she led him to the bed. She felt the pull as he stopped the moment she slipped under the covers. But when she offered him a warm smile, his hesitation disappeared and he slowly lay down beside her. She smiled as he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, his eyes fully open with obvious no intention to rest.

Mac stared at the white ceiling before him, afraid of that sleep would take him into a place he could only remember pieces of, though it was enough to scare the hell out of him. But then, softly Stella snuggled against him. Her warm arms gently pulled him into her soft embrace. His cheeks blushed, and his heart skipped madly in his chest. He wondered why he felt constantly on edge with her. If they were close friends; the way she was hugging him shouldn't make him react this way. Not like that. Though, he had to admit, her warmth was very comforting right now.

Her chest pressed softly against his back. His muscles tensed at her touch and she smiled inwardly. That was so like her old friend, to be uneasy when all she was trying to do was to make him comfortable. She sighed; his barriers were back, but at least he let her get close to him, well very close in fact. And maybe that was why they hadn't really talked about their relationship. She sighed inwardly, as her arms ensnared him and she guided his head toward her shoulder. She smiled as he didn't resist, and followed her move. He was so tired that it could only explain why he had complied to her wishes so easily today.

"You can sleep now, Mac," she softly whispered, her breath gently caressing his short, brown hair.

He sighed heavily. "Don't want to," he admitted, his voice muffled against her chest and his headache throbbing madly beneath his temples.

"Just close your eyes, okay. I will be there if you need me."

"You need to rest too," he whispered tiredly, his body already betraying him and giving in to sleep.

She smiled and her face gently nestled against his cheek. Her hand came to rest over his forehead and lazily played with his hair. "I will, as soon as you rest. Now, close your eyes for me, okay?"

He took a small breath, lingering in the delicate stroke of her fingers in his hair. Slowly lulled by her soft caress, he closed his weary eyes. " 'kay," his soft voice muttered as sleep was already claiming him.

Her heart heavy, Stella continued to caress his face until she was sure he was deep asleep, his slow breathing and his limp body confirming her assumptions. Then, she tightened her hold around him, lingering in his warmth that had been so clearly missing the day she had found him, in that dark, freezing hole. As she deposited a warm kiss on his hairs, a silent tear escaped her eye, and welled down her cheek. Although they had fought again today, she knew she would never abandon him. And now that he was asleep in her arms, she had to be honest with herself. She had feelings more than friendship toward him, and she couldn't deny that as she was spending more time with him out of the Lab, the more she wanted to remain with him. The moment she had left the hospital alone had cruelly bit into her soul; she had missed him so much and it had only been a few minutes. But she could still remember that long wait to find him a few days back, and her heart couldn't bear to see him far from her now. She had no idea if her feelings were mutual, and now she was afraid to be the only one to feel this way. She sighed. And as long as his memory wouldn't be one hundred percent back, admitting her thoughts would be like using his distress to get to his heart. And she couldn't do that to him. Her lips tight, she swallowed back her anxiety. For the moment he was safe in her arms and that was all that matters. Even if was going to be hard, she would have to wait to tell him what lay inside her heart. The only question was just : for how long?

_**xxx **_

He smiled wickedly as he saw the cop hovering and limping into the snow to get to his car. Martin glanced at his watch. It was late in the afternoon, and seeing how furious the chick had run out of the hospital and the face Taylor had given to everyone as he was outside, he deduced they probably had a fight. He shook his head in content. Obviously, she was his weakness. And their strong bond wasn't without holes and bumps. Surely, he could prepare something to use this at his advantage. Anyway, the guy didn't deserve to be respected as he let himself to be treated this way by a chick. _Damned that chick!_ If he could remain with her only five minutes, he would show her how a girl should behave with a man, and surely she would never forget it.

Still smiling broadly, he followed them to the chick's apartment. He grunted, knowing that there were small chances that they moved again. Like yesterday, she was probably going to try to keep him inside, which wasn't stupid and helped Taylor to heal. _But gee!_ Taylor let that chick control his life so much that he was sick to just be observing them. He gave a pout at the rear mirror as a police car stationed right behind him. _Damn it!_

Taking a small breath, he looked as one of the cops exited the car and quickly walked to a small coffee shop. A few minutes later, the officer was outside, holding two steaming cups, and avoiding the chunks of frozen snow on the curb. He climbed back quickly in the car. Martin's fists tightened as he saw the cops sipping slowly at the hot beverage. _Damn it! _They hadn't just made a quick stop, he realized angrily. No, they were taking a stake out**,** and right behind him.

Suddenly, his phone went off, and he frowned at the ID. "Tommy?" he said, already annoyed by his older brother.

"Huh? Marty?" said his brother. "I'm tired of waiting here, and..."

Martin glanced at the cops in the mirror and clenched his hand around the wheel. If Tommy was calling, it meant his older brother was starting to get really bored and it was going to be hard to keep him in one place. But what could he do with him?

"Tommy, I don't have time for your whining," he finally said tiredly. "Just watch the damned TV, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I did. And I saw the boss speaking on TV too, but I want to be useful, Marty. I know I screwed up but..."

Martin frowned. "The boss on TV?"

"Yeah, was about the event in a few days," said Tommy.

Martin shook his head, of course, the event. The boss was probably getting nervous. By this day, Taylor should have been dead, and nobody should have been able to threaten him. He frowned, but if the boss was taking the risk to keep Taylor alive, it meant he was probably betting on his weak state and his trouble with his memory. Martin sighed. But knowing the guy as he had studied him for weeks, he knew it was risky. As soon as Taylor would try to work again, the boss would be in danger. He shook his head. But that was the boss' problem. If he wanted to take a risk with Taylor to get his revenge, well, he couldn't do a thing about it. Though sticking to the cop like that, was dangerous for him, and his initial contract was to kill Taylor, not stalking him. _Damn it!_ He sighed remembering the huge possibility he had this afternoon. Alone with the cop, he could have taken his life, and their problem would be almost over.

"Marty?" called his brother.

"Just stay where you are, Tommy. If you follow my instructions, I promise you'll get your fun with the cop, okay?"

A long silence followed his words, and he wondered a second if his brother hadn't just hung up on him. "Promise?" said his brother.

"Yeah, I swear, you'll help the boss, and I won't stop you if you want to get some fun with Taylor. You'll be able to beat him, blow him off, or play with him. I'll make sure of that."

"Thanks, Marty." His brother hung up, and Martin sighed and looked at the phone. Time to call the boss for the daily update.

Frowning, he dialed the number and hoped that the news to kill Taylor would come quickly. But before that, he would probably have to leave his spot as the cops behind him seemed to glance too many times at his car. He sighed and turned on the engine. It was time to leave this spot and find another one more discreet this time.

_**xxx**_

She sighed as she read the last reports she had gathered. Lindsay looked up to see her husband hobbling toward her office and she cringed. He had that face that meant that things were worse than he had thought.

"What happened?" she started as soon as he entered their office. "I thought you were going to see Mac and Stella?"

He sighed. "I did." He slumped tiredly on the couch near the wall, and dropped his cane to the floor.

"Danny?" She raised her brows in worry and quickly went to sit beside him.

"I saw them, Linds. But..." He frowned. "Well, I processed Mac as Stella wanted to and you know it felt weird. I felt weird!" He let out a heavy sigh. "I mean..., Linds. He was covered in bruises! All his chest and back! Even his arms and hands, I mean that was... that was..." He stopped unable to say more.

Her lips tight, she put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him to her. "He's gonna be alright, Danny." Her hand gently caressed his blond hair and he gave her a weak smile.

"I hope you're right."

"Of course, I am, Danny." She grinned as he raised his brows in wonder. "That's why you married me, remember?"

He smiled lightly. "Yeah, what was I thinking?"

She smiled warmly and patted his shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, he sat upright, trying not to get submerged by his dark mood. "So what did you find so far?" His mind back to Mac's case, at least he could do that to help his friend.

"Well, with the help of Adam, Sheldon and I recreated the circumstances that happened in the building." She pouted seeing his bewildered face. With a serious face she stood up and grabbed her tablet. Then she sat back next to him and touching the screen, she showed a 3D replica of the building to Danny. "Well, only part of it," she admitted. "We still need Mac to tell us everything. But so far, we managed to find that they were at least two people with Mac."

On the screen appeared three people facing each other. "At one point, they cuffed him, and as Stella found him he freed one of his hands."

Danny watched bemused as one man had now his hands bound behind his back.

"What we know too," continued Lindsay. "Is that when the explosion occurred, the tub was on the fourth floor, so it's probable that Mac was there too. And from what I gathered in the tub, Mac went inside or was forced to as I found his DNA all over the place plus his footprints too." On the screen, the bound man was placed in a tub near a wall.

Danny frowned, his heart accelerating at the reconstition. His mind already playing the worst scenario that could have happened. And with only one question; why a tub? Was it the place they had planned to use to kill him. Easy to wash after. _Oh God,_ his mind whispered in horror. _He really came this close._ He closed his eyes, feeling nausea invading his mouth.

"I can't tell precisely if he went freely or not," said Lindsay as she sighed with remorse. "I can't either explain why I only found Mac's DNA inside the tub, well apart from the black hair that was with the footprints." She frowned.

Danny nodded, giving her a stern look. "Knowing Mac, he probably gave them hell before they could tie him up. Doing so, he probably kicked one of the guys in the head. That's how the hair got on his shoes and inside the tub."

She shook her head. "Well, that hair doesn't belong to our John Doe in the morgue. And I didn't find anything in CODIS. But some of the blood on the side of the tub, and the saliva does. It belonged to him."

He nodded. "At least we have some pieces of the puzzle." He sighed and tiredly leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I asked Sheldon to check if Medriano had friends." He looked straight at Lindsay, his mind back to his friends. "Mac remembers hearing men coming after him in the hole. And they weren't friendly," he said with dread.

"Men?"

He shook his head. "Yeah, there's a third one runnin' in the street and who wants to kill Mac too." He sighed. "And the explosives? What did you find?"

"Flack is on it. He said he found a link with a robbery a few months ago, and he'll call as soon as he will have details about that lead." She looked at Danny, her heart heavy. "We have to be strong, Danny. Mac and Stella need us."

He shook his head. "I know. I just wish Mac was back at the helm, ya know? He always knows what to do. I mean things are so simple when he's around. I never really saw all the things that he was doing to keep us together."

She smiled, her hand lingering softly around his neck. "Yep, but now it's our turn to take care of him. He has Stella, but when he'll be back, he will need us ready to go into action. And you, my dear husband," she said as her hands patted his shoulders. "You need to relax a bit to be able to help."

He smiled. "My dear husband? Ya talked to your mum lately?"

She smiled back. "No, I had to yours, and she seemed worried about you, just as much as I am."

He gently stroked her cheek. "I'm okay, Linds." He gave her a tired smile.

She raised her brows, obviously disaggreeing with him.

"What?" he asked.

"Well, Don was right. You do look like Mac lately." She gave him a warm smile.

"Must come with the office," he muttered as he pulled her in his arms.

She tightened her arms around him, and buried her face in his shoulder. "Just don't get hurt like Mac, okay?"

He tightened his hold. "Yeah, Montana. I'll be careful."

She smiled. It was getting dark outside, and she closed her eyes, lingering in the soft warmth of her husband's body. One more day had passed, and they were still unsure of the outcome and Mac's future. Soon, she hoped they would find the answers they needed, and they would then be able to stop those who wanted to harm their friend.

_**xxx**_

She blinked as the warm body pressed against her had shifted wearily. Opening her eyes, Stella realized it was late in the night, as only the lights from the city peered through the curtains. She glanced to her side at the alarm clock. 3:30AM, and smiled lightly at the nestled form in her arms. Mac hadn't moved until now, and she was glad that he had slept that long. Almost eight hours, that had to be a record, especially for him.

But her joy quickly faded as he groaned in his sleep and tensed against her. She looked back at the clock, a feeling of dread filling her mind: 3:33AM was now glowing, and Mac seemed to be thrashing even more. He let out a small yelp and then froze. She stared at his tensed features as his eyes slowly opened, a glassy veil covering them. She wondered if he had always woken up this way when the 333 stalker was after him, and her heart squeezed in pain. At the time, she had supported him and helped him to get through this as much as she could, and even when she had known about his restless night, she had never asked if he needed company to help. She swallowed back the feeling of guilt, remembering that at the time he was alone, Peyton having cowardly dumped him with a Dear John letter. With a deep sigh, she noticed his eyes fluttering as he tried to understand where he was. His head rose heavily from her shoulder.

"Stella?" his voice croaked faintly.

"Yes, Mac. I'm here." Softly, her fingers brushed his damp hairs to confirm that he wasn't dreaming and hoping it would help him to get back to sleep. His head lay down tiredly against her shoulder with a faint sigh. "It was just a nightmare," she added, knowing once again it was a lie. To wake up at that precise time, he had probably dreamed of Drew and reliving this time had obviously pulled him back down.

"It's not," he muffled against her, his tone soft, though she could feel his heart beating madly.

Her eyes widened at his words. He knew. And as to confirm her fears, his arms tightened around her even more. She watched him shutting his eyes firmly as to suppress another bad dream trying to take him away. His jaw clenched to muffle his pain, as now awake he was trying to hide his pain. "I'm here, Mac."

He sighed heavily, obviously sad that she had seen so easily through him. "I know," his muffled voice echoed, but his eyes remained close.

He was hurting all over. His muscles were stiff and aching every time he was moving, and he had to struggle not to moan and worry Stella more. He was glad she was there. But he knew too, that she wasn't seeing him in his best day, and it was a pain even worse clutching at his heart. He sighed and felt her arms gently tightening around him. He wondered for a moment if the way she was helping him hadn't passed the simple boundaries of friendship, but he quickly shaved the idea away. She couldn't love him. Or surely things would have progressed between them before he lost his memory. He sighed tiredly, his headache back with full force and his head writhed by a shooting pain. He squeezed his eyelids, trying to stop the headache, but it didn't work. And finally, he let out a long deep sigh.

The pain was unbearable and pierced his brain. He was about to let it go, when he felt her fingers gently caressing his left temple. The soft move slowly soothed the hammering beneath his skull, and he released the strong grip he hadn't realized he had around her. Confused and tired, he hoped his hold hadn't hurt her in anyway. But as she continued to gently stroke his temple, softly caressing his hair line, his mind slowly drifted away.

She smiled weakly as Mac finally relaxed against her. As soon as she had felt him tensed and involuntarily tightening his hold around her, she had gently stroked his face. His hold squeezing her, probably due to his current condition, hadn't been very powerful as if it was all he had left. And like a child comforted in his dreams, he had slowly slumbered back into a deep sleep. Through the darkness surrounding them, she gazed at his face shyly bathed by the city's light and watched his tensed features slowly relaxed under her caress. A weak smile grazed her lips, realizing that this time she had been able to help him fight his bad dream, and that she had been able to hold her promise, to be there for him.

Looking at the clock, she noted that only twenty minutes had passed and that, glady, he was asleep again. He needed rest, and maybe tomorrow things would start to get back to normal. She closed her eyes, hoping she was right and letting herself being taken by a well deserved sleep.

_**xxx**_

The next time she woke up, Stella realized that it was the morning, though still early as her clock indicated 7:12AM. But the next thing that struck her was the empty bed beside her. Where the hell was Mac? She looked around, but anywhere her sight rested, he wasn't there. But then, she heard the characteristic sound of dripping water and released her breath. He hadn't left. No, he was probably taking a shower. But if he had awaked before her, and was in the bathroom, she could bet he had a precise idea in mind. As to answer to her thoughts, she heard the bathroom door opening and muffled steps leaving the corridor, probably heading towards his room, she deduced. With a small frown creasing her face, she jumped off the bed to go after him.

Mac winced as he slipped in a fresh navy t-shirt and let out a small groan, when the same fabric grazed at his stitches not protected. His black pants already on, he glanced quickly at the raw wound on his side and gave a small pout. That wasn't pretty, but at least, it wasn't infected. A voice raked behind him, interrupting his thoughts, and he turned with a small smile.

Stella was standing on the threshold of his room as he had left the door open. Her arms crossed over her chest, she was observing him with a curious look.

He frowned lightly. "Ah, sorry if I woke you up, I tried not to..."

Stella smiled and walked toward him with a mischievous smile. "Need a hand with that?" She asked as her hands slowly lifted his t-shirt. She grinned inwardly as he hadn't fought her. No, instead he had let her hands grab his t-shirt without resistance.

His brows creased. "I..." He swallowed as his heart skipped in his chest at her near proximity. He tried to think quickly. What should he say that would not get her angry and...?

But before he had the time to react, she had lifted his t-shirt half way up and was looking at the unprotected wound with a frown. Then, her gentle emeralds locked with his eyes, and he just stared at her. His lips tight, he nodded slightly, agreeing at her silent question and was rewarded by her beautiful smile. What could he oppose to these amazing eyes?

"Just sit on the bed, I'll be right back," she said as she left the room.

Sighing, he sat down, wondering what would happen between them when his memory would be back and he would have healed. Would their lives be apart again? Back to the friendship she said they have? What had happened the last two nights was friendship, right? He wasn't so sure about that though. Somehow he had the feeling that he was getting too close of her. He frowned and was pondering how he was going to tell her his project for today, when she came back, a small medkit in hand. She smiled warmly, and he let go of his doubts, focusing on the way to tell her about his project.

Sitting beside him, Stella opened her small medkit and found the gauze she needed for his wounds. She could feel the heat coming from his close proximity and his warm breath tickling her neck as he was looking at her. She tightened her lips as his cologne invaded her senses, and if she hadn't known better she would have sworn Mac was back with her. Then, it would have been all right to tell him what she felt, right?

Slowly, she raised her eyes to him, and Mac wondered why she seemed so shy so suddenly. Was he making her uncomfortable? Thinking it was his fault, he avoided her gaze and shifted on the bed to let her access to his wound. Her soft fingers gently grazed his skin as she applied a new dressing, and he bit his lower lip, trying to keep his emotions under control. As soon as she was done, he put back his t-shirt, but her warm fingers around his stopped instantly his move. His heart jumped in his chest and their eyes connected.

"Let me see your shoulder now," she said softly, though her voice implied she wasn't ready to hear anything else than yes from him..

Swallowing back the slight blush he felt rising, he slightly nodded and turned to show her his back. His heart beat madly in his chest as he was suddenly blind to her moves. He knew he had nothing to fear from her, but feeling her warm breath tickling his naked skin was sending shivers along his spine, and awaking deep feelings inside, that he wasn't sure he should have. At least not with her. They were friends, his mind tried to convince his body. He shouldn't react that way. Her warm fingers gently applied another dressing over his shoulder, and he sighed in relieve as she broke the contact, not realizing he had let it go aloud.

"Mac, you okay?" Her worried voice came from behind him.

He bit his lower lip, and let his t-shirt down. "I am now. Thanks to you," he said, still avoiding her eyes.

She frowned and gently grabbed his arm as he was about to stand to leave the room. "Mac?"

He took a deep breath before he looked at her. "Sorry,... was just thinking about... different things," he rambled.

She nodded, waiting for him to continue.

He sighed, seeing that she wanted to know more, and wasn't about to let him go before he had told her what was in his mind. Okay, he wanted to wait for breakfast, but he guessed it was okay if he was telling her now. "I'm going to the Lab, today," he stated, making sure she would understand that he wasn't asking her permission. He was going, period.

She looked at him stunned. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

He stood up and circled the bed, taking a step toward the large window of the room. He gazed at the towers still plunged in the darkness of an early, winter morning. Small lights sparkled here and there, but seemed to give away to the obscurity, as the gloomy shadows were bound to win every time. His hand rubbed at the back of his neck.

Stella watched, stunned, as he was taking his usual spot, facing a window, when he had something important to talk about. Inside, her heart skipped at the sign of her friend, coming back so vividly before her.

"I know what you're gonna say, Stell. But I can't stay here and do nothing any longer." His hand fell back against his side, and closed into a fist.

Back from her stupor, his arguments woke her up. "Mac, the doc hasn't cleared you yet," she said, knowing that arguing with him could provoke a new stressing episode. She tightened her lips, bracing from another outburst.

He turned to her, and she could see that his eyes were gleaming again as if he had found his strength back. But she knew it was only an illusion due to a good night sleep; it had always done that on her friend. One good night sleep was enough to charge his battery. But today was different. He was still wounded, and soon with the day, his forces would decline, giving any occasion to his nemesis to get to him even more easily, and hurt him. Her lips tightened, and she wasn't ready to let him out of her sight so soon. Not as long as he wasn't properly healed.

Rage burst inside his mind and chest and he took a long breath before he could speak again. He couldn't let go of his rising anger after all she had done. No, he had to keep it at bay as much as possible. His green, ocean eyes softened, trying to reassure her. "I need to go back to work and do something, Stell. I remember my job and I can work now. You and the team, you don't have to do all that for me. I can work too." His voice was soft and without any anger.

She bit her lower lip, knowing his stubborness. He was the most stubborn man she had ever met and his memory loss hadn't changed that. So arguing with him would not work. And she had to admit, she had managed to keep him out of work for three days, which in itself was a small miracle. So at one point she should have expected him to react like that. It was how her friend would have acted anyway, so maybe it was a good sign of his memory coming back. She sighed. At least, at the Lab, in the middle of other cops, nothing should happen to him. He should be safe, right?

"Alright, but as soon as you're getting tired or don't feel well, or that I decide that you're not fine, we go back home," she said. "And that's final, Mac," she added with a warm smile.

He chuckled lightly, feeling his rage slowly subsiding as she had agreed without much trouble. "Alright." He locked his eyes with her. "For today, I will listen to you."

She smiled. "Thank you. So you need a big breakfast this morning before we go, and this time you better eat as you haven't eaten anything yesterday beside a breakfast."

"So did you," he replied with a small grin.

She narrowed her eyes genuinely, realizing that his memory loss hadn't hindered his sense of observation. She winked playfully at him before she left his room.

He smiled, staring at her disappearing back. Sure, he was going to listen to her for today, but at least, he was going to do something, and he was going to make sure that he would activate his memory as much as he could. If he couldn't go to find answers at his apartment, and that she wasn't allowed to answer his questions as well, then, he should be able at least to find some clue at the Lab. And besides, he was really remembering things from his job, protocol and processing crime scenes. He shook his head. It was a bit confused when he was trying to think about it, a damned headache coming back as well. But he was sure that he was going to remember it, and not because of the pills that the doc had given him. He frowned. He still had to find why they wanted him to take those.

Leaving his room, he headed to the kitchen, refreshed and feeling way better than the day before; thanks to a good night sleep and a caring Stella. He shook his head, the smell of grilled bacon, and eggs being roasted, and the deep, intense odor of fresh brewed coffee invaded his lungs with delight. Stella was again cooking a meal for a football team. He smiled; he could really get used to this life, with her and her morning, giant breakfast. Yep, he could really fall for her, only would she for a guy as broken as he was?

_**xxx**_

Mac glanced at Stella as he leaned back in the lift. For once this morning had been smooth and none of them had uttered a sound too loud. Although he had carefully avoided taking his pills, he had eaten pretty much everything she had stuffed in his plate until his stomach had given up, full. He smiled. She too had eaten pretty well. And for a minute his gaze followed her beautiful curves, wondering how she was doing that and keeping a perfect body. He smirked as he remembered how much she had eaten. He had thought that her watch over him had taken its toll on her, but he had never imagined she had that kind of appetite. He smiled and saw that she was looking at him, meeting his enquiring stare over her body. He blushed slightly, and turned to avoid his uneasiness as he had been caught stealing candy.

She smiled back mischievously. "Still thinking about breakfast and the monster meal you gulped down," she teased lightly.

He chuckled lightly as he looked back. "I had no idea I could eat all that."

She smiled. "Well, me too, Mac. I think it's the first time I've seen you eat that much." She paused and looked at him. "I guess my cooking isn't so bad then?"

His eyes widened in surprise. "So bad? You kiddin' right? It was delicious, and... what?" He asked suddenly as she was staring at him her mouth half open.

"Delicious?" She replied, her brows rose in wonder.

He frowned. "Yes, why not? Nobody has ever told you that you're a good cook?" He watched as she bit her lower lip in a shy pout, and he smiled at her childish gaze.

"Well, I never really cooked for anyone until recently. I mean, besides myself," she confessed with a small voice.

Now, it was his turn to wonder what she meant by that. "I thought that maybe it was the traditional breakfast you served to your guests?" He said.

"Never had any guest for breakfast, Mac," she said, her voice filled with sadness.

"Never? Why?" He stared at her. "I mean, sorry if it's a bit too straight forward, but you're a beautiful woman, and I thought that you would have plenty of guys around you?"

Her lips tight, she looked down, not answering. Of course plenty of guys, but not the one she had really in mind. And to add to that, she couldn't say that her late boyfriend had been the best model in the world. And with her no-man policy, she had hindered any of them to get too close to even taste a breakfast at her place, especially since Frankie.

Mac felt her awkwardness, and realized that maybe he had gone too far in private territory. "Sorry, I shouldn't have talked about your private life. I didn't know that you don't really share that kind of things. Sorry."

She gave him a weak pout, and shook her head. "I do share private matters, Mac."

He nodded, understanding the underlining words of her short statement. "But not with me, I get it," he whispered, his heart now heavy.

He took a step close to the doors and bounced nervously on the sole of his feet, hoping for the doors to open quickly and deliver him from his miserable attempt to get to know her better. But then, her soft fingers nestled in his hand, and he looked at her in wonder.

"I usually share these things with my best friend," she stated as the doors opened.

Mac remained frozen on the spot. He? He was the guy she confided into? She smiled to him and he suddenly sprang into life again as the doors were about to close on them.

Both exited as they exchanged shy glances and their hands broke apart. He smiled back and then turned to the large, empty corridor. He frowned, trying to remember where his office was supposed to be. And then, certain of his way, he headed right in front of him.

Stella followed him, curiosity picking her as she had caught a sparkle in his eyes. She had seen his eyes gleaming with pride at her small confession. Somehow, she was starting to realize that she was discovering a new side of her partner. It was like he was allowing her to see the part of him that he had buried a long time ago, and what he was using right now to get back to his feet. Deep inside she had always thought this side was inside of him, but with Claire's death, he had buried part of his heart and his spontaneity toward life too. Even if it had been only a glimmer in his eyes that she had caught few seconds ago, it was still a part of him that he had let her see. And for that, she was happy to be with him and right now.

It was still early at the Lab, and the corridors were still deserted. The real busy life would not show up before at least twenty minutes, which gave them some time to walk quietly toward his office. But then, as he stopped near Danny's office, she joined him to look at what had attracted his sight.

She smiled and gently slipped a comforting arm around his as she used to do when they were sharing special moments. He glanced at her with a shy smile and then his eyes were back to what had stopped him. Stella gazed with pride at the couple nestled on the couch. Lindsay quietly nestled in her husband's arms and the both sound asleep.

"My team," she heard Mac whispering as he glanced at her with a warm smile, full of pride.

She nodded, glad he had said these words with such emotions.

The vision of Danny and Lindsay as he remembered her name now, made him realized how much his team had put in since he had been missing. He had been right to come back today. If all he had heard about them, and what he was witnessing was another proof of it, then, he had to get back to work too and help them. How could he stay aside when they were working so hard for him? What kind of boss would do that?

Stella's arm tightened around his, and it was so natural that he didn't even think about saying anything. No, he just lingered in the soft contact of her body pressed against his. With the last two nights, he had the deep feeling that his memory was getting better. _And maybe,_ whispered his mind, maybe it wasn't due to the lack of pills, maybe it was just because of her; Stella. He gazed at her emeralds, and wondered if she had any idea of what was going on in his mind because of her? For just a moment, he reveled in her magnificent, green orbs, and felt his will and strength being back to their maximum. He smiled wearily.

Stella watched with wonder as Mac gazed at her, a small silence lingering in the deserted corridors of the Lab. The world shut around her, and a glimmer of hope brightened her stare as she noticed the way he was looking at her. She could feel her old friend, fighting his way back to surface behind his green pools. He was there. Mac was there, ready to come back. The light shining behind his eyes was so intense that she could almost feel it penetrating her core. Soon she would find her friend back. _Soon_, her mind repeated with expecting joy.

_**...TBC

* * *

**_

**A/N: **Well, Hope you liked that. It's a new start for Mac as his memory is still messy but he's fighting hard to get it back. As always let me know what you thought of this part, and have all a great weekend.

_Eternal Flame_ coming soon


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